


Running Up That Hill

by LewisMey



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Notting Hill Fusion, Emily and Emma are not twins, F/F, US Women's Soccer National Team, USWNT, but the gang is still the gang, cheesy but cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LewisMey/pseuds/LewisMey
Summary: "For fuck's sake!"It is a sharp and dangerous tone that slices through the air. For a second, Emily is confused, but then she sees the huge yellow stain that has thoroughly soaked the white shirt of the woman right in front of her. "Oh my god, I am so sorry!" she blurts and rushes to clean up the mess. "Here, let me help." Her hands hover over the stain, very close to the other woman's breasts when they are slapped away."What the fuck do you think you're doing?"Startled, she finally looks up from the woman's chest to her face and her eyes grow wide in horror. Kelley O'Hara is glaring daggers at her.//Emily Sonnett is in her mid-thirties, notoriously single and shares her tiny house in northwest London with her annoying and quirky roommate. She owns a comic book store just around the corner and is struggling to live up to everything—her expenses, her dignity, and certainly her own expectations. When an extraordinary customer saunters into her shop one day, her life gets turned upside down.This is the Notting Hill AU nobody asked for. Just bear with me, I thought I'd give it a go.Also, nobody plays soccer.
Relationships: Kelley O'Hara/Emily Sonnett
Comments: 104
Kudos: 225





	1. Chapter 1

When Emily's alarm goes off, her whole body suddenly whips around and her forehead crushes against the headboard.

"Ouch," she groans, while she tries to ignore the hammering pain which spreads from its origins to her temples. She blinks a few times to focus, then—with a very smooth movement of her right leg—she kicks the shrieking buzzer off her nightstand.  
  
When silence fills the small room, she sighs heavily and lets herself drop into the cushions again.  
  
The beaming sunlight has managed to creep through the windows already, though it is still very early. She buries her face in a bright yellow pillow and utters a few opaque words into the fabric. Then she rises as quickly as a lightning and stretches, while her bare feet dig into a grey fuzzy carpet in front of her bed.  
  
She loves this feeling. She loves the soft material on her skin, the warm lighting of her room on summer mornings. First, she smiles vaguely to herself, but just a second later she gets extremely excited. This is going to be an awesome day!

  
//

  
This is going to be a horrible day, Emily thinks, while she fishes a fork out of the kitchen sink that literally is walking on its own.  
  
"Ugh, this is disgusting!"  
  
She lets it fall back into the sink and dares to take a look around. She wishes she hadn't.  
  
The kitchen is a mess—a total nasty, despicable dump. The small kitchen table is scattered with used dishes, open takeout boxes and leftovers that sport a shade of grey she didn't know really existed until now. An old jar was prominently left on top of some newspapers on the sideboard, presenting its own ecosystem. More used dishes are piled up beside the sink, a very dirty kitchen towel carelessly thrown over it.  
  
How was that even possible? Sure, she arrived just yesterday from a weeklong business trip, but nobody—not even her dopey and bizarre flatmate—could produce such an amount of disgustingness in only six days.  
  
Or so she thought.  
  
She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes for a minute and lets out a voluminous yell, "Megan Rapinoe, you useless piece of—ugh! Get your ass down here. RIGHT. NOW."  
  
To underline her point, she slams her fist on the kitchen table’s only free spot. Then she crosses her arms in front of her chest and waits not so patiently.  
  
Her yelling isn't something to happen very often. She is a very peaceful companion. In fact, her yelling is as likely as a cactus dying of prolonged drought.  
  
Suddenly her eyes go wide at that thought. She turns on her toes to face the window. Oh no.  
  
"No!" she exclaims. "No, no, no, no, no!"  
  
But there is already nothing more she can do instead of pitying the sight that is presented to her. The windowsill has once been a home for a handful of very green, very healthy and very nice looking plants of all sorts. Now, she has to face a gruesome carnage. Brown, wrinkled leaves are scattered in front of the window. Everywhere she can make out spots of soil. One flower tub has been thrown off the sill and lies on the ground in pieces. Plant skeletons.  
  
It seems as if a tornado has whirled its way through her evergreens.  
  
"PINOE!" she hollers impatiently.  
  
Finally, she hears muffled sounds from the second floor. Her flatmate makes her way downstairs, and when the addressed finally appears at the top of the staircase, she flinches.  
  
Pinoe looks disastrous. Her short platinum blonde bleached hair is a total mess and stands up in any possible direction. "'Sup Son?" she calls out and stumbles down the remaining stairs in nothing more than a black sports bra and a washed out grey towel around her hips with an indefinable stain on the side.  
  
"Ew." Emily rolls her eyes.  
  
When she comes to halt right in front of her, she beams. She opens her arms and is surely ready to hug her, but stops dead in her tracks when Emily takes a step back, successfully crashing into the kitchen table.  
  
"Pinoe, have you lost your mind? What is this?" She makes a vague gesture around the kitchen. "I was gone for six days...Six! How can you possibly shred our apartment like that in six days?"  
  
"Woah there," Pinoe declares defensively, "it’s not actually shredded, it’s just..."  
  
Emily raises an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh, not the eyebrow, Sonny, come on!"  
  
"Come on? Come on???" She stretches her back and rises on her tiptoes, but it doesn't really help to emphasize her point, since she and her quirky flatmate are about the same height.  
  
"Pinoe," she sighs and rolls back to her heels, "this place looks like a mess. What did you do here? And my plants. Seriously? It looks like a belligerent cat has chased a mouse for hours, crushing everything in its path."  
  
"Yeah, about that...," she mutters.  
  
Emily remains silent and shoots her friend a very angry look.  
  
Pinoe squirms under her gaze. Though she is technically a grown woman with an athletic, muscly complexion, she often behaves like a teenage boy.  
  
"Okay, okay," she raises her hands in defense. "Look, I’m very sorry, Em. I really am. I kind of, you know, wanted to clean up and stuff, but Sue—she came over the other night and seriously, if there’s a hot girl in your room, you just want to do her. Not the dishes. It’s bro-code!"  
  
Emily snorts. "You've never even been to university."  
  
Pinoe shrugs with a disarming smile on her face. "Doesn't mean I can't adapt the lifestyle."  
  
The corner of Emily's mouth lifts and Pinoe smiles even wider.  
  
"Alright," she resigns to her fate. There is really nothing else she can do.  
  
"Awesome!" Pinoe leaps forward. "Come here, Sonny!" With that she catches her in a tight embrace, her prominent collarbone pressing into her jaw. She sighs into it.  
  
"I love you, bro," the blonde says with a confident tone.  
  
"Yeah, totally not awkward at all, since you are stripped down to your underwear and hugging me awfully tight," Emily deadpans.

The other woman jumps. "Uh, right! Sorry, Son!"  
  
She shakes her head in response and starts to collect the newspaper from the table. "You’re about to help me here any time soon?"  
  
"Yup, totally. Doing the dishes after doing–"  
  
"PINOE!" she squeaks. "Get out. Right now!"  
  


//  
  
  
Her hands rummage hastily through the papers. I doesn't look good. Precisely, it looks really, really bad. She needs to come up with an idea how to save the expenses sooner or later. Rather sooner. Otherwise she won't be able to keep her shop any longer. She sighs heavily. Just for a moment she closes her eyes.  
  
She owns a small comic book store in the heart of Notting Hill.  
  
Notting Hill, with its market on weekdays, selling every fruit and vegetable known to man and with its tattoo parlor, where several guys exit after a long drunken night wondering why the hell they chose "I love Ken" in the first place. Or the racial hair dressers around the corner where everyone comes out looking like the Cookie Monster, whether they like it or not. And where on the weekends, from the break of day, hundreds of stalls appear out of nowhere, filling Portobello Road right up to Notting Hill Gate and where thousands of people buy millions of antiques. Some genuine, and some not so genuine.  
  
Outside, Emily sees pedestrians running by. The street is filled with sunshine. It gives her a warm feeling.  
  
Her shop is unpretentious from the outside, but it is where she feels most comfortable on the inside. It isn't a big place, it is slightly chaotic, with waist-high displays where an uncountable number of comic books are set for every keen customer to browse through. The walls and the secret bits round corners are decorated with wooden shelves which contained more comics, all of them specifically categorized and some of them even in their original packaging. Colorful posters are pasted on the remaining empty walls and with the rays of the sun breaking through the shop windows, you can see dust dancing in the air.  
  
Emily hears someone hem.  
  
Her attention skips back immediately towards Mal, her sole employee, waiting enthusiastically.  
  
"Classic. Absolutely classic." She puts her pen aside for a moment. "Profit from major sales push—minus 347 pounds."  
  
Mal hums in agreement. She is a young, introverted university student who works with precision but otherwise has her mind in the clouds. Emily often catches her staring at the ceiling, with a dreamy expression on her face, as if she just retreated herself into wonderland, not noticing what was around her. But she is good with the customers and a reason why a lot of the boys in the neighborhood still frequented her shop.  
  
"Shall I go get us a cappuccino. To ease the pain?"  
  
"Yeah, that would be nice. Better get me a half. That’s all I can afford right now." Emily has a weary smile on her face as Mal exits the shop. Which is not supposed to stay very long, though, since there is a huge pile of paperwork sitting on her desk right now. She rolls her eyes. This isn't a good day after all.  
  
Just a few minutes late, with a joyful ring of the doorbell, a woman walks into the shop. Emily looks up casually and freezes in her motion.  
  
The woman is dressed in a black leather jacket, despite the London summer heat. Underneath, Emily spots a white shirt that stretches easily over abdominal muscles. Her gaze follows the customer as she smoothly strolls along the bookshelves. Irritatingly skin tight black jeans highlight the woman’s curves on all the right places.  
  
Emily swallows.  
  
The woman stops at the Marvel’s section and runs her delicate fingers over some covers. She has her back turned towards the counter and her brown hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders.  
  
Suddenly, Emily has a funny, but familiar feeling. She really can't place the customer right yet, but she is sure she has seen her before. Just as she is about to say anything, the brunette picks a Black Widow comic and begins to turn the pages carefully.  
  
"That Yelena Belova comic’s really not good. Just in case, you know, browsing turned buying. You’d be wasting your money."  
  
"Really?" The woman’s voice is low and sultry.  
  
"Yes. This one though is...very good." Emily picks up another comic from the counter. "This one here is about Natasha Romanoff, the real Black Widow, if I might add. She battles Iron Man at first, but it turns out she is a super professional spy and rigid in close combat. When she changes sides from the KGB, she becomes one of the Avengers eventually." Emily takes a deep breath and wants to continue right away but is interrupted by the other woman.  
  
"Thanks. I’ll think about it."  
  
Emily shifts slightly but spots something on the small TV monitor beside her. "If you could just give me a second," she says and moves from behind the counter towards the back of the shop. "Excuse me?"  
  
In the back corner a man with slightly ill-fitting clothes turns towards her. "Yes?"  
  
"Bad news," she says with a sad smile on her face.  
  
"What?"  
  
"We’ve got a security camera in this bit of the shop." She points rather vaguely to the ceiling.  
  
"So?"  
  
"So, I saw you put that comic down your trousers."  
  
The man shifts uncomfortably. His hair is a bird’s nest. "What comic?"  
  
"The one down your trousers," Emily states as she crosses her arms in front of her chest.  
  
"I haven’t got a comic down my trousers." He makes a dumbfounded face and Emily is struggling hard to stay calm.  
  
"Right. I tell you what. I’ll call the police and, what can I say, if I’m wrong about the whole comic-down-your-trousers scenario, I really apologize."  
  
He starts rolling back and forth on his feet. "Okay," he says lazily, "what if I did have a book down my trousers?"  
  
"Well, ideally, when I went back to the desk, you’d remove the 'Tail of the Marsupilami' from your trousers, and either wipe it and put it back, or buy it. See you in a sec." Emily returns to her desk with an overdue eye roll. She spots the brunette lingering at the counter, browsing through the same Black Widow comic from before. "Sorry about that."  
  
The other woman adjusts her black sunglasses on the bridge of her nose. "No, it’s fine. I was going to steal one for myself but now I’ve changed my mind." A vaguely familiar smirk spreads across her lips. It is all Emily can focus on.  
  
"So," waving her comic in front of Emily, she steps an inch closer. "Signed by the artist, I see."  
  
"Yes, we couldn’t stop him. If you can find an unsigned copy, it’s worth an absolute fortune." Emily, chuckling at her own joke, is delighted to see that the other woman is genuinely smiling.  
  
Suddenly, the thief is right next to her. "Excuse me?"  
  
The other woman turns towards him, her smile erased from her beautiful face. "Yes?"  
  
She indeed has a beautiful face, Emily recognizes. Her clenched jawline looks like it was sculptured straight out of marble. Her skin was slightly tanned, but over her cheeks and on her straight nose, although mostly hidden by the black rimmed glasses, spreads a sea of tiny freckles.  
  
It hits Emily right there. Of course she has seen her before. This woman is famous! She is in at least every second major Hollywood production Emily can ever think of. How could she have been so stupid not to recognize her right away?  
  
The man’s voice brings Emily back to reality. "Can I have your autograph?"  
  
Did he seriously ask the gorgeous actress for her signature? Why didn’t she thought of that before? Emily rummages hectically through her documents and hands the brunette a scruffy piece of paper and her pen. Her pen.  
  
"What’s your name?" The actress asks the man languidly.  
  
"Rufus."  
  
Without a comment, she takes the paper from Emily, signs it and hands it back to the thief.  
  
He obviously tries to read it since his eyebrows are jerking up and down on his face. "What does it say?" He looks bewildered.  
  
"Well, this is my signature—Kelley O'Hara—and above," she chuckles as she continues, "it says, 'Dear Rufus, you belong in jail.'"  
  
He is amused. "Nice one. Would you like my phone number?"  
  
Emily coughs uncontrollably. If the other woman takes notice of the noises coming out of Emily’s throat, she dissembles it pretty well.

"Tempting but...no, thank you," she deadpans.  
  
The man just shrugs absentmindedly and leaves the shop dragging his feet.  
  
Emily turns to look from him leaving towards Kelley. Kelley O'Hara, the famous American actress. Who is in her comic store. In Notting Hill. Did she mention she was a famous actress? From America? And did she mention Kelley was beautiful. Like heavenly beautiful? Like—  
  
"You okay there?"  
  
Emily turns right towards her. "Sorry?"  
  
"You okay? You were coughing a lot. And staring. A lot more staring than coughing, if I recall correctly."  
  
Emily feels the blush starting on her neck, spreading over her cheeks. She is bright red in seconds. Awesome. Smooth. Way to go, Sonnett.  
  
Kelley doesn't seem to care, she is already handing out a 20 pound note and the Black Widow comic Emily said was rubbish.  
  
To cover her embarrassment, she rambles, "Oh, right, on second thought maybe the Yelena Belova series wasn’t that bad. It’s a sort of masterpiece really. Who wants to read about the Avengers lately? There everywhere on the media, right? Better get yourself a funny terrorist organization founded by a preposterous Nazi and named after a snakelike monster from ancient Greece, right?" Emily reaches for another comic from under the counter. "And I’ll throw in one of these for free. Very useful for lighting fires, wrapping fish, that sort of things."  
  
Kelley watches Emily carefully, again with a smirk on her lips. "Thanks," she says in a rough but striking way and leaves the shop by taking just a few steps, swinging her hips in her perfectly tight jeans and never looking back once.  
  
Emily is dazzled. The sound of the doorbell still ringing in her ear, she clenches on the counter and lets out an audible sigh. Kelley O'Hara bought a comic in Emily’s shop and left. Just like that. She was in and out of her life in seconds. Squealing to herself, she skips around the counter. This is an awesome day!

  
//

  
"Hot cappuccino as ordered!" Mal barely manages to get through the shop's door with two disposable cups in both hands. While she sips on one, she hands the other to Emily who barely registers the cappuccino. Instead, she gazes through the windows unfocused. "I don't think you'll believe who was just in here," she mutters absentmindedly.  
  
"Who? Someone famous?" Mal's face lights up.  
  
Emily takes a short breath and is about to spill the beans when she suddenly stops. "No." She sighs. "No one. No one."  
  
"Ah," Mal replies and takes another sip from her cappuccino. "Wouldn't it be exciting if someone famous came into the shop though?" She puts the cup down and adjusts her jean shorts. "You know, this is pretty incredible actually, but I once saw Keira Knightley!" She pauses for a second. "Or at least I think it was her. It might have been that posh one from the Spice Girls, Vivian."  
  
Emily's eyebrows shoot up. "I'm pretty sure it's Victoria."  
  
"Oh, right, Victoria. The one that is married to Prince William."  
  
"You mean the one who is married to David Beckham, the soccer star?" Emily questions warily.  
  
Mal looks up, confused, and takes another sip of her drink. "You don't say?"  
  
"And I am pretty sure Victoria Beckham doesn't look anything like Keira Knightley."  
  
"Hm," Mal utters, "no, well...she was quite a long way away."  
  
Emily huffs. "So it could have been neither of them?"  
  
Mal, the cup half lifted to her mouth, falls silent for a second, the point sinking in. "I suppose so," she adds after a while.  
  
Emily chuckles. "It's not a very captivating anecdote, is it?"  
  
The young woman shakes her head with wide eyes. "Not captivating, no." Then she shrugs once and empties her cappuccino.  
  
Emily flashes her a smile. She was a weird fellow, there was absolutely no doubt, but she liked having her around. So what if she had to point her in the right direction a few times a week? At least she had an open, innocent nature and was always nice to the customers. "Want another one?" she asks, pointing at Mal's empty cup.  
  
"Yes! No, wait, let's go crazy," she replies and a huge grin distorts the symmetry of her even face. "I'll have an orange juice."


	2. Chapter 2

Emily collects Mal's juice and some extra paper napkins in a coffee shop on Westbourne Park road. It was a nice little store on a corner not too far from her shop, with a white door frame and barely enough space to order something, yet to stay inside and observe the pedestrians, hastily passing by. She always liked going there, and not just because most days they gave her her drink for free, but because she knew all of the staff and half of their pets by name.

With her head still turned back to the little shop and a happy goodbye on her lips she rounds the corner and bumps straight into someone. The orange juice in its little foam cup flies through the air, and her hands desperately try to catch either the liquid or the cup. She doesn't succeed.

"For fuck's sake!"

It is a sharp and dangerous tone that slices through the air. For a second, Emily is confused, but then she sees the huge yellow stain that has thoroughly soaked the white shirt of the woman right in front of her.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry!" she blurts out and rushes to clean up the mess with the crumbled napkins. "Here, let me help." Her hands hover over the stain, very close to the other woman's breasts when they are slapped away.

"What the fuck to you think you're doing?"

Startled, Emily jumps back a little, and when she finally looks up from the woman's chest to her face, her eyes grow wide in horror. Kelley O'Hara is glaring daggers at her.

"I'm sorry, again, really. Let me—," Emily begins but doesn't finish. Her hands are still outstretched, the orange juice drenched napkins loosely in her grip.

Kelley clenches her jaw.

"Look, I live just over the street," Emily hears herself saying. "You could get cleaned up there."

"No. I just need to get my car back." Kelley starts rummaging through the shopping bags that hang loosely on her arms and mumbles more to herself, "Where did I leave my phone?"

It is loud enough for Emily to hear, so she chimes in, "You can use mine. I'm confident that in five minutes we can have you spick and span and back on the street again...in the non-prostitute sense, obviously." She is genuinely surprised by her confidence, but when Kelley doesn't reply she is about to start second-guessing her offer. She opens her mouth again to say something, to maybe even save the messy situation she got both of them into, when Kelley huffs in defeat.

"Okay. So what does 'just over the street' mean. Like, give it to me in yards."

"Eighteen. Eighteen yards. That's my house there," she points just over the street. "The one with the blue door."

Kelley looks down, one hand on her sunglasses. Then she looks up again, her posture stiff and prepared. "Lead the way."

//

Emily struggles with the keys a little bit, but the door opens soon enough. "Come on in. I'll just—," she stops mid-sentence, suddenly remembering the state her kitchen is in. "Oh god," she says and runs in further. She kicks some old shoes under the stairs that are certainly neither hers nor Pinoe's. She sees an unfinished pizza and throws it hastily in the bin, which is already overflowing with garbage. There is a plate of breakfast on the counter that showcases some crusted remnants of cereal and...Ketchup? She snatches the plate and hides it in a cupboard. "Sorry, it's not that tidy, I fear."

Kelley O'Hara has silently observed Emily's frantic attempt to hide the state of the house, but walks up the three steps to the kitchen.

Emily reaches for her bags. "Let me take these," she says and places them on an empty chair. "So, the bathroom is right at the top of the stairs and there's a stationary phone on the desk up there. Also, I have my cellphone somewhere in my pocket, if you prefer contemporary technology?"

The brunette doesn't answer, but only passes her and heads up the stairs.

When she has rounded the landing, Emily curses under her breath. "Fucking Pinoe!" She grabs a green plastic bag from under the sink and races to the window to collect the dead plants and the dirt from the sill and the floor. She throws the old cups and bowls from the table and the counters carelessly into the sink and speeds through the little room like the roadrunner. By the time she stacks the magazines and newspapers, she hears Kelley's feet on the stairs. She stops immediately.

Kelley walks down, the sunglasses now on top of her head, wearing a short, sparkling black top underneath her leather jacket. It shows off a bit of her arms, some midriff and a lot of cleavage.

Emily is dazzled, but recovers fast. "Um, would you like a cup of tea before you go?"

"No, thanks."

"Coffee?"

"No."

"Orange juice?"

Kelley crooks her head just slightly.

"Probably not, got it." She scratches her neck and moves to the fridge, which is sadly very empty. "Huh," she says and dwells in front of the open fridge door. It looks like she is waiting for contents to appear. "Something else cold? Coke, water? There is a disgusting sugary drink pretending to have something to do with fruits of the forest."

"Really, no."

Emily continues. "Would you like something to nibble? Apricots, soaked in honey. I mean, no one knows why, because it stops them tasting of apricots, and makes them taste like honey, which is—duh—like, if you wanted honey, you'd just buy honey, instead of apricots, but nevertheless...here we go." She fishes for the bulky jar. A few sad looking orange blobs swim around. "Yours if you want them."

"No."

Emily hesitates, with the jar still in her hand. She looks straight at the other woman, and it is the first time she can actually see her eyes and the way her freckles spread over her whole face. "Do you always say 'no' to everything?"

There is a pause, where Kelley just looks right back at her. Then a very faint smile appears on her lips. "No." She chuckles now. "I better be going. Thanks for your help."

Emily is enthralled. "You're welcome, and, may I also say...heavenly." It takes a lot of her to get this out loud. She never has been very smooth when it comes to pretty girls. Actually, she never has been really smooth at all. "Sorry, I just had to take my one chance to say it," she adds. "After you've read the terrible comic, you're certainly not going to be coming back to my shop. So..."

Kelley smiles. It's genuine, and there are fine lines around her eyes that make them look sparklier than the top she is wearing. "Thank you," she says simply.

"Yeah, well. My pleasure."

Emily makes a step forward and Kelley follows her along into the narrow corridor. She stops at the door, fingers already around the handle. "It was, um," she hesitates to put a loose strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. "It was nice to meet you. Surreal, but nice."

She finally opens the door and Kelley lowers her sunglasses back on her nose and slips outside without another word.

Emily closes the door and looks up to the ceiling, one arm on the handle and the other behind her head. She shakes her head in wonder. 'Surreal, but nice.' What the hell was she thinking? More out of anxiousness she laughs at herself, and turns around to deal with the rest of the mess in the kitchen.

When there is a knock on the door, she turns back around, opens it and sees...Kelley, again.

"Oh, hi. Forget something?" she jokes.

"I forgot my bags," Kelley answers drily and takes off the sunglasses once again.

"Oh, right!"

She shoots into the kitchen and picks up the forgotten shopping bags from the chair. She swivels around on her heels with too much force and sways a little, but hands the bags back to the brunette.

"Thanks. Well..."

They are back in the narrow corridor and Emily, both hands awkwardly on her hips, really has no idea how to say goodbye a second time. She looks at Kelley and is suddenly very aware of how close they actually stand together. She can not only see the darker, prominent freckles on her nose and forehead, but also the small ones below her eyebrows as well. The variety of colors in her eyes struck her. They are a pool of green with light and dark brown specs here and there, all framed together by a thin dark ring that somehow keeps the outburst of expression together. It's absolutely fascinating to look at.

In this moment, Kelley leans forward, places a hand on the base of Emily's neck and closes the remaining distance to kiss her full on the lips.

Emily doesn't move at all. Her eyes are open and wide, her brows shoot up to her hairline. She doesn't even breathe, until Kelley leans back with a barely visible crinkle in the corner of her eyes.

"I apologize for the 'surreal, but nice' comment. Disaster..." Emily finally chokes out.

"Don't worry about it. It though the apricot and honey business was the real low point."

Emily wants to reply, but suddenly there is a clicking of a key in the lock. Emily panics. "Oh god. My flatmate. I'm sorry...There is really no excuse for her."

And with that, Pinoe enters the house. Her hair is now neon pink and combed back in a very slick, very greasy way. She wears a yellow shirt that is three sizes too big and with cut off sleeves, probably made by herself.

"Hi," she says, biting into an apple.

"Hi," Kelley and Emily reply at the same time.

Pinoe nods, chews and pushes through between them. "I'm just gonna go to the kitchen to get some food. And then I'm gonna tell you a story that will make your clit swell to the size of a golfball."

"I'm—," Emily starts but Kelley stops her with a finger on her lips.

All of a sudden, she looks serious again. "Probably best not to tell anyone about this."

Emily nods. "No one, got it. I mean, I'll tell myself sometimes but...don't worry, I'm probably not gonna believe it."

Kelley sends her a look she can't decipher, then she just nods curtly and pushes the glasses back on her face. "Bye." And with that, she is out the door.

Emily breathes very, very deep.

"There's something wrong with this yogurt," Pinoe says from the kitchen. She holds up a plastic cup with one hand and a spoon with the other, where a thick white mass slowly paves it's way down to the floor.

"That's not yogurt, it's mayonnaise."

"Well, there you go," she chuckles and another splash lands on the ground. "Netflix and chill tonight? Saved some absolute classics on your list."

//

It's well past Emily's official bedtime, but she is still sitting on her old rundown sofa in the dark living room, chin in her hands and her elbows perched up on her knees. Pinoe lounges on the other end of the couch, her legs dangling from the armrest. The only lights come from the TV, and the shadows and colors reflect on their faces. It sets for a very sad and melancholic atmosphere that has been building up for the better half of the evening. Emily stares at the screen, 'Brooklyn Heights' playing, where Kelley O'Hara now sits on a bench overlooking the skyline of Manhattan, her feet tucked under her and nuzzled into a thick woolen jacket. A man with a well-kept designer stubble appears on screen, his dark hair cut short. He sits down next to Kelley and hands her a steaming cup of coffee from a local shop. She doesn't accept it, but only stares into the distance. She is clearly unhappy, but the man is unfazed.

'Smile,' he says and drapes his arm around her.

'No.'

'Come on, smile,' he tries again.

'I've got nothing to smile about.'

He shifts, turns around to face her and flashes her a big grin. 'Okay, but in about seven seconds I will ask you to marry me...'

Kelley turns around, the camera is now directly on her face and there it is, her bright, irresistible smile.

"Bullshit," Pinoe hollers from next to Emily and sits up, her legs flying around in the motion. "That woman is as gay as tits."

Emily leans back into the couch. "How would you know?"

"I am alive?" she counters and gets nothing but derision in return. "Sonny, heard of Insta before? Snapchat? Tik Tok? Geez."

Emily only shrugs. Of course she has heard of these apps before. She might be a timid Instagram user, if she's being completely honest, but she has an account for her shop that mostly Mal takes care of, and a private account she uses to follow some art blogs and publishers. She doesn't follow movie stars, though. She was never really interested in _that_ lifestyle.

"Look," Pinoe says and shoves her phone into Emily's face. "If she's not a lezzie than I don't know what I am."

And there it is, Emily thinks, a picture of Kelley O'Hara in a Hawaiian shirt and black dress pants, her hair bound back in a messy bun, a cigarette tucked behind an ear. She has her arms around a thin, slightly taller brunette who wears a white, flowy dress that parts over her thigh to reveal a long, delicate leg in stilettos. The other woman's hands are on Kelley's neck and disappear just over her waistline under Kelley's shirt. The caption reads, 'Love is tragic, y'all.'

Emily just deflates. "I didn't know," she admits.

"Man, what a power-couple", Pinoe raves and tilts the phone with a dopey grin on her face.

"How old is this picture?"

Pinoe scrolls a little longer. "Dunno, a year tops?"

She laughs at that. "Are you stalking her?"

"No, I just think the chick's drop-dead gorgeous. Just imagine to be the one girl in the world that's allowed to kiss her. Bam!" She slaps the cushion hard and jumps off the couch.

"Yeah," Emily whispers. "She's stunning."

//

The next day, Emily and Mal sort through the young adult graphic novel section, although Emily is fairly more sleep deprived. They look up when the doorbell chimes, and both flinch a little at the sight of Mr. Smith, an annoying customer who comes by the shop at least once a week but never buys anything.

He wanders through the rows for a few minutes, then approaches Emily with a questioning look. The left part of his horseshoe hair stands up. "Do you have any books by John Grisham?"

Emily shakes her head. "No, we're a comic bookshop. We only sell comic books."

"Oh right." He seems to understand, but then he asks, "How about that new Dan Brown thriller?"

"No, I'm afraid that's a novel, too."

"Oh right," he says again. "Well, do you have a copy of 'Winnie the Pooh'?"

Emily just blinks. One, two, three times. Then she says loudly, "Mal, your customer!"  
  
She turns away from Mr. Smith and looks out to the display. Just at that moment the entire window is taken up by the huge side of a bus, obscuring the light, and entirely covered with a portrait of Kelley. Her face is in profile, her hair tightly bound back in a ponytail, her chin high and her lips thin. She doesn't smile at all, instead, her facial expression is stern and unyielding. It's an advertisement for her new film 'Planet Magnon'.

Emily brings up a hand to her mouth, as if she'd sense a phantom feeling of Kelley's lips on hers. A soft chill runs down her spine and she cracks her knuckles to chase away the thoughts that are clouding her mind. Now, not even a full 24 hours after the kiss in her corridor, she still remembers every second of their interaction. When she closes her eyes, she sees Kelley's colorful irises staring back at her. She sees her tanned skin, smooth over the cheeks, soft lines around the corners of her mouth. She sees thousands of freckles shining back at her like stars on a spectacular night sky. She feels Kelley's huff on her face before the kiss and she still tastes her on her lips. That's what she tells herself, what she made herself remember in the dark hours just before the morning.

The doorbell chimes again and Emily sees Mr. Smith's back crossing the street. "Did he finally buy a comic?" she asks Mal over her shoulder.

The poor girl just shrugs. "I showed him the edition from Ian Chachere, but he wasn't very fond of it."  
  
Emily nods. "Maybe we need to take some graphic novels with a mystery cover and just tape it over with 'Dan Brown' in bold letters...So we can finally sell something to him."


	3. Chapter 3

Emily is in the finally clean kitchen, fixing herself a tea, when Pinoe comes down the stairs two steps at a time in a full body scuba diving gear. Because of the flippers she wears on her feet, she stumbles on the third to last step and slides the rest of the way down on her bum. On the threshold she bursts out into laughter.

The scene is so ridiculous, that Emily drops her teabag on the floor instead of the bin. "Just incidentally...why are you wearing that?"

The neoprene is thick and already a faded red. It has frayed a little at the hems. Pinoe picks on it. "Um, a combination of factors, really. No clean clothes..."

It's quite hard to understand her, because of the big diving goggles she wears over her eyes and nose. "They never will be unless you actually wash your clothes."

She agrees with a comical nasal sound that could resemble a hippo with sinusitis. "Vicious cycle. But then I was snooping around in your things, found this, and I thought—cool, kind of spacey!"

Emily laughs. "All right, Jacques Cousteau, wanna join me on the rooftop?"

"Roger that," Pinoe says and waddles up the stairs.

After a while, when her half empty cup of tea has already gotten cold, they both enjoy the afternoon sun that is warming their bodies. Pinoe has pealed herself out of the top part of the wet suit and wears only a sports bra again.

"There's something wrong with the glasses."

Emily eyes her tentatively. "You do know that diving goggles always have a certain cut in the lenses?"

Her flatmate looks confused.

"So you can see all the fishes properly," she adds.

"Sick."

Emily looks back to her phone and is about to continue reading the short article she had previously opened before she remembers. "Any messages on the landline lately?"

Pinoe nods, the goggles dangling from her upper arm. "Yup, wrote a couple down."

"So it was two messages? That's it?"

"You want me to write down all your messages?"

Emily closes her eyes in exasperation. "Well, yeah. We already talked about this. Not everyone has my cellphone number. You know my mum still uses the landline."

Pinoe stretches. "I don't remember your mum calling."

"Okay, so who were the ones you didn't write down from?"

"Um, let's see. Uh, no. Gone. Completely." She wraps the cord of the goggles around her index finger and lets them slowly rotate around. She is not very successful. "Oh no, wait! There _was_ one from your mum. She said don't forget lunch and her leg's hurting again. Or was it the arm?" The goggles rotate faster.

"No one else?"

"Absolutely not," Pinoe says and with a whip the goggles fly through the air and crash against the railing. "Sorry," she shrugs. But instead of getting up and fetching the glasses from the hand rail before they fall down to the street, she just leans back, crosses her arms behind her head and relaxes. "Though if we're going for this obsessive writing-down-all-messages thing...some American girl named Kelley called a few days ago."

Emily freezes instantly. A few seconds pass by when she only hears her own blood rushing in her ears, then she looks at Pinoe. "What did she say?"

"Well, it was genuinely bizarre...She said—'Hey, it's Kelley'—and then she said—'Call me at the Ritz'—and then she gave herself a completely different name."

"Which was?"

Pinoe picks on her belly button. "Absolutely no idea. Just be glad I remembered one name..."

Emily closes her eyes for a moment. She feels both anxiety and excitement flooding through her body, although the anxiety clearly has the upper hand if the state of her armpits is any indication. Before she can second guess herself, she has googled the phone number of the Ritz in London and hit 'Call'.

A formal male voice comes through her speakers. "This is the Ritz Carlton, how may I help you?"

"Hello. This is Emily Sonnett calling for Kelley O'Hara?"

There is a pause at the other end of the line. Emily quickly checks if the call is still connected.

"I'm sorry, we don't have anyone of that name here, ma'am."

"Well, no, that's right...I know that. I am a...a friend of hers and she rang me at home the day before yesterday. She left a message saying she was staying with you. She said she's using another name—but the problem is she left the message with my flatmate, which was a serious mistake." Emily takes a breath. "Imagine the stupidest person you've ever met? Are you...are you doing that?"

Pinoe looks up. She has snatched the goggles from the railing and put them back on, the wrong side up. Her nose is seriously squeezed by the thick rubber.

"Yes, ma'am. I have this person in mind."

"Okay, great, now double it, and that is the, how should I put it—git—I'm living with and she cannot remember..."

"Try 'Marta da Silva'," Pinoe says.

Emily turns around to her. "What?"

"I think she said her name was 'Marta da Silva'."

She rolls her eyes and focusses back on the call. "Does the name 'Marta da Silva' mean anything to you?" she asks the front desk manager.

She hears an approving grunt at the other end of the line.

"I'll put you right through, ma'am."

"Oh. My. God." Emily's eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. "Okay, hello," she practices, but it comes out high pitched. She clears her throat. "Hi," she tries again, and then adds another "Hey," this time a bit deeper.

"Hi." It's Kelley's voice, stretched thin, on the other end of the call.

"Oh, hi!" Emily practically stumbles over her greeting. "It's Emily Sonnett. We, um—I work in a bookshop?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"Um...no, I mean, we met in my bookshop, and then I slashed orange juice all over you. Again, I am very sorry about that."

There is a faint click on the line, and Emily can hear that Kelley is currently talking to someone else. Her voice is there, but inaudible. She comes back after just a second, her voice dourly and filled with accusation. "You played it pretty cool there, waiting for three days to call."

"No, I've never played anything cool in my entire life. Pinoe, my flatmate, who I'll stab to death later, never gave me the message." Emily hears a breath, but nothing else. She hurries on. "Let me make it up to you. For this, and the juice debacle. I could come around for a coffee or something?"

"Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, let's give it a try. Four pm. But things are going to be pretty busy, I won't have much time."

Emily smiles. "Great, yeah!" and then the call is disconnected. For a moment, she just stares at the fading screen of her phone until it turns completely black. Then she sits up straight, and scratches behind her ear. "Excellent."

//

Emily jumps off a bus, crosses the street and saunters to the fancy hotel which entrance is covered by a big blue satin canopy. The lobby is so opulent that it already hurts her eyes as soon as she steps inside. There are brightly colored floral carpets everywhere, heavy draped curtains, delicately designed staircases, chandeliers and door frames. The ceiling is completely painted in swirling shades of pink, light blue and lemon.

She is definitely underdressed, she thinks for a second. She only had time to throw on a washed pair of blue jeans, a grey cropped shirt and a casual royal blue rain jacket that is maybe a size to big for her, but still looks quite stylish with the green patches in the front and the lower parts of the arms.

She makes a beeline for the front desk and catches an employee in a clean cut dress suit. "Hi, my name's Emily Sonnett. I have a...meeting with Marta da Silva?"

The woman nods once. "Absolutely." She turns to the computer screen, makes a few clicks and says with a small smile, "Room 38. It's the Trafalgar Suite on the third floor. The elevators are over there."

Emily taps on the counter once and heads for the lifts. There are already a handful of people waiting for the doors to open, so she slides in behind them and sees that the button for the third floor has already been pushed. The elevator stops at the second floor, and two older ladies exit. She is left with a quite pale man who wears round glasses and has a flowing quiff of red thin hair. His appearance and the way he carries the old handbag makes Emily think of a middle aged Percy Weasley. When the doors to the third floor open, Emily steps out, searching for a point of orientation. She spots the sign for rooms 34-38 and turns right as indicated. The man follows her. She passes rooms 34 and 35 and still feels the other guy on her heels. She slows down, puzzled, as she passes 36 and 37. When she approaches room 38 at the end of the corridor, she stops and the guy behind her stops right next to her.

Emily furrows her brow and points at the number on the door. "Are you sure you're...?"

"Oh yes," the man says.

"Oh—right." She glances at him again, then knocks on the wooden door.

At an instant, a bright, well-tailored American with long blonde hair opens the door. She flashes both of them a big, toothy smile. "Hello, I'm Allie. Sorry—things are running a little late. Here's the thing..."

She hands them both very slick, expensively produced press kits. On the cover is the poster picture of Kelley for her new film 'Planet Magnon'.

Emily stares at the picture. She's already seen it a few days ago and again on the way to the hotel, but it doesn't lower the feeling she gets when she sees Kelley like this. Her ironclad face, the sharp line of her jaw and the coldness in her eyes—this is how she remembers most of their interaction so far. But then there is the memory of that crinkle in her eye and her face too close to her own...Emily snaps out of it.

The other guy has already entered the suite, the press junket tucked under his arm. Emily follows suit, both hands a little soggy on the papers.

"So," Allie starts, while she guides them into the main waiting room. There are a number of journalists waiting for their audience. Most of them are busy on their phones, or writing on their notepads, and it finally dawns on Emily that this might be very different from the meeting she expected. "What did you think of the movie?"

Percy Weasley is eager to reply. "Terrific. 'Gravity' meets 'Arrival'. Oscar winning stuff." Then they both turn to Emily to reply.

She takes a second and then blurts out, "I agree."

"Wonderful," the American says and motions them to sit down. "I'm sorry. I didn't get down what magazines you're from?"

"Time Out."

"Great, and you?"

Emily bites on her tongue. She takes a quick look around, as if anything might give her the right idea. "BuzzFeed...UK," she says eventually. "The name's Emily Sonnett. I think she might be expecting me?"

"Okay, take a seat, I'll check."

Weasley sits down and there is another empty seat for her, an old looking wooden chair with the same floral pattern she saw in the lobby. She doesn't sit.

He seems to be a little confused. "Don't you want to—?"

"Nope, I'm fine," she cuts him off and crosses her arms.

"So, BuzzFeed. You're doing very important journalistic work there."

Emily glares at him. She couldn't care less for the website, but his attitude bothers her. "Yeah, BuzzFeed. With its 700 million readers worldwide. What's the circulation of Time Out again?" She doesn't know if its entirely true, but she vaguely remembers an article she read a few weeks back that showed some impressive numbers. It's worth the trouble, because Weasley's face is priceless.

"Miss Sonnett?" Allie calls from the other end of the room and makes a hurried hand gesture.

She cuts across the waiting area and is let in to yet another fancy, but rather outdated room.

"You've got five minutes," Allie tells her before she closes the heavy doors from the outside.

Emily scans the room. There are more old chairs and a very ugly striped chaise longue. Left and right are vases with freshly cut flowers of all sorts and in the back of the room, framed by four long windows, is Kelley O'Hara. She is wearing a short, black spaghetti top that exposes the top half of her defined abdomen, and dark, but glittery high waist joggers that flow around her legs like satin. She looks glorious.

"Hi."

"Hello."

"I'm glad I didn't bring you flowers, because clearly you have enough already," Emily jokes to ease the tension. It hardly one of her best ones, but at least there is a slight smile on Kelley's lips.

"Yeah, I always get quite a lot. A pity, really."

"Because you can never take them back home?"

"Exactly."

They fall silent for a bit, until Emily picks the conversation up again. "Sorry about not calling back. The whole two-names concept was totally too much for my flatmate's pea-sized intellect."

Kelley laughs. "No, its fine. It's just a stupid privacy thing that I do. I always choose a female soccer player. Last time out, I was Mia Hamm."

As if on cue, another blonde woman with a long face and a sharp chin comes in, but she is less inviting than Allie and more authoritative. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, Dawn, thanks," Kelley answers.

The older woman's look is stern, as she takes in the scene, but she doesn't comment as she settles at a little desk in the corner and starts to make some notes. "And you're from BuzzFeed?"

Emily nods slowly.

"Is that so?" Kelley asks curiously.

There is an awkward pause and Emily has the feeling that she needs to act the part if she wants to get out of this alive. She clicks her tongue. "So, I'll just fire away, yeah?"

Kelley tilts her head, but doesn't comment. Instead, she just sits down on the pink and white chaise longue and waits for Emily.

"Right. Um...the film's great...and I just wondered, weather you ever thought of using more...pop culture references in it?"

"Well...we would have liked to, but it was difficult, obviously, being a bourgeois tragedy set in a bizarr dystopian solar system, where post pragmatic collectives are controlled by a computer based sanity."

Emily swallows hard. "Obviously. Very difficult."

There is an audible huff in the background, as Dawn gets up and then leaves the room.

Emily buries her head in her hands. She is sure that her ears are flaming red by now. "I'm sorry," she begins. "I arrived outside, and they thrust this thing into my hand...I didn't know what to do."

"No, it's my fault," Kelley admits. "I thought this would all be over by now."

Emily looks up and their eyes meet.

"Look, I just wanted to kind of apologize for the kissing thing. I seriously don't know what got into me. Just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Yeah, no, absolutely fine. I was—"

Dawn enters the room again, another pamphlet in her hand. "Miss Sonnett, do remember that Miss O'Hara is also keen to talk about her next project, which is shooting later in the summer."

Emily's eyes dart from Kelley to the older woman and back. "Yeah, excellent. Um...any pop culture references in that one? Or memes, of course. Our readers are equally intrigued by both."

Kelley is very serious now. "It takes place on a submarine."

"Right. Gotcha...But if it were possible, which meme would you be willing to portrait on said submarine? The confused math lady comes to mind. She is very popular with our readers and with all the submarine slang going on I bet you'd make an excellent impression."

Thankfully, Dawn exits a second time, leaving Emily to gasp for air.

"Oh my god. I'm just a complete moron. Sorry! This is the sort of thing that happens in dreams—not in real life. Good dreams, obviously. It's," she looks at Kelley, "it's a dream to see you."

Kelley's expression changes in an instant. It's hard to pin, but her eyes grow a little darker and she leans slightly forward, her hands playing with a golden necklace. "And what happens in the next dream?"

"Well, I guess in the dream scenario, I would just, um, change my personality real quick, because that's what you can do in dreams, and I'd walk across and...and I'd kiss you." Emily's heartbeat is fast. So fast, it almost hurts in her chest. But there is also Kelley, who seems to lean forward even further. It's the perfect moment, Emily thinks, and she almost gets up, before Dawn reenters the room a third time.

"Time's up, I'm afraid. Sorry it was so short. Did you get everything you wanted?"

Emily rolls her eyes. "Not precisely."

"Maybe time for one last question? I'll go get the next in line."

"Right."

Dawn turns around and leaves both of them to themselves.

Before Emily can think twice, she blurts, "Are you busy tonight?"

Kelley's face is unreadable. "Yes," she simply says.

"Oh—" Emily breathes, but then Dawn comes back with Weasley in tow. Both politely wait in the doorway for the two women to say their goodbyes, so Emily hurries to get on her feet.

"It was nice to meet you," Kelley says and outstretches a hand for Emily to shake. When Emily takes it, she adds with a wink. "Surreal, but nice."

Emily chuckles. "Thank you. You are BuzzFeed's favorite actress. You and RuPaul. Tied."

//

Outside, Emily absentmindedly wipes her hand on her jeans. She turns to go, but is suddenly accosted by Allie.

"If you'd like to come with me we can rush you through the others."

"The others?" she squeaks.

So Emily ends up in the next room, similar furniture, different actor and Allie's introduction, "This is Miss Sonnett from BuzzFeed."

A forty-something actor with a smile that shows too many teeth shakes Emily's hand and motions her to sit. She obeys, slumping into the chair.

"Did you like the movie?" the actor asks.

"Enormously."

He chuckles. "Then, fire away!"

Emily sits up a little straighter. "Right, right. Um...did you enjoy making the film?"

"I did."

"Any bit in particular?"

"Why don't you tell mich wich bit you liked most and I'll tell you if I enjoyed making it?"

"Absolutely," Emily squeaks. "I liked the bit in...space very much. Did you enjoy making that?"

//

It's ten minutes later and Emily sits in front of two women, one rather grim looking older woman with salt and pepper hair and a younger one in her late twenties, her interpreter.

"Did you identify with the character you were playing?"

The interpreter turns to the elderly actress. "Você se identificou com o seu papel no filme?"

"Não."

The interpreter repeats. "No."

"Oh," Emily makes a face. "And why not?"

"E porque não?"

The actress doesn't move a muscle. "Porque era um tigre ditador que queria destruir o sistema solar."

"Because she is playing a dictatorial tiger threatening to destroy the solar system."

Emily deflates. "Excellent."

//

Another seven minutes pass and Emily sits opposite of an eleven-year-old American girl.

"Is this you first film?"

The girl scrolls through her phone. "Nope". She pops the last 'p'. "It's my 22nd."

"Of course it is. Any favorites among all of those?"

"Working with Harry."

"Potter?"

The girl looks at her in horror. "Styles!"

//

After what feels like three days taken out of her lifetime, Emily finally drags her feet through the waiting room. She passes camera crews and jittery journalists, but she couldn't care less. All she wants to do is get home as fast as possible and forget this whole day ever happened. Best, forget the last week ever happened.

"Miss Sonnett, have you got a moment?" It's Allie and she hooks her arm under Emily's and dismisses her weary, inaudible protest, while she practically drags her back through the suite. She opens a side door and pushes Emily inside.

This time, there are no other actors, kids, or reporters. It's just Kelley, who has kicked off her high heels and is just about to take her hair out of her tight bun.

Emily shoves her hands in her front pockets and sways a little on her feet.

The brunette combs through her now loose hair with her fingers, arranging it all over one shoulder. "Um, so that thing I was doing tonight? I'm not doing it any more. I told them I had to spend the evening with Britain's most famous meme collector."

Emily is stunned. Her eyes are big and she is very aware that she's most likely sporting vibrantly pink cheeks, but she grins widely nonetheless. "Really? Wow, okay...cool." Then her face falls instantly. "Oh, fuck—damn it—sorry, I totally forgot it's my little sister's birthday. We're meant to be having dinner tonight."

"Okay...fine."

"No, I'm sure I can get out of it."

Kelley rushes to clarify. "No, I mean, if it's fine with you, I'll be...you know, your date."

Emily is startled. She turns her head left and right in order to see who Kelley really meant. But there is no one else in the room with them. "Um," Emily lifts an arm to scratch at the base of her neck. "You'll be my date to my sister's birthday party?"

"If that's all right."

"I'm sure it is. Lindsey is cooking and she's acknowledged to be the worst cook in the world, but you know, you could ditch the food in the front yard or something."

"Okay."

"Sick," Emily says and grins over both ears.


	4. Chapter 4

It only takes about eight seconds after knocking until Lindsey—a tall blonde with an intimidating presence dressed in a flowery apron—practically rips the door out of its hinges. The tall blonde doesn't even as much as glance at the arriving pair, but turns back with a hastily thrown "Come on in, tiny food crisis!" over her shoulder.

"I can't believe you're actually wearing this flowery thing," Emily calls after her.

"Get lost!" they hear from afar.

Kelley shoots Emily a questioning look, but Emily just shrugs and offers her a lopsided grin. Then she motions for her to enter the corridor. When they round the corner to the open living room, a petite redhead greets them with a lovely smile.  
  
"Hey, sorry, the BBQ pork loaded baked potatoes are proving more complicated than expected."

Emily looks shocked. "She's cooking what exactly?"

"Don't even ask." The redhead moves a little closer, which takes some time, since she has to maneuver herself and a full casted left leg on two very thin crotches across the room.

"Hi," Kelley says.

"Hi," she replies, a little struck. "God, you're the splitting image of..."

"Yeah, um, Rose...this is Kelley," Emily intervenes.

"Right," the redhead nods several times. Her long hair bobs in unison. "Good. Uh-huh."  
  
There's a pause where the three women just look at each other—Rose with a pointedly raised eyebrow aimed at Emily—but then Lindsey barges in from the kitchen, a white towel that looks dangerously burned on one corner casually thrown over her shoulder.  
  
"Crisis over!" she yells.

Emily takes the opportunity of Lindsey's almost undivided attention to introduce them. "Linds, this is Kelley."

"Oh man, sorry," Lindsey outstretches a hand, still not fully looking at the other woman. "Hello, Kelley." But when she finally looks up, she recognizes her and the words just fall out of her mouth. "O'Hara!" She instantly shuts herself up and looks utterly panicked.

Both hosts exchange quick glances that are supposed to be subtle, but really speak volumes. Confusion is written all over Rose's face, and she even mouths 'WTF?' at Lindsey, who just stares back at her, repeatedly shrugging her shoulders. For Emily, it is very funny to watch, if the smug grin on her face is any indication. It doesn't stay there for long.

"A warning would have been nice, Sonny," Lindsey finally says, drying her hands on her towel. "Next time, maybe text an elephant emoji or something."

"So everyone thinks I went to the zoo? Or India?"

"I don't know, or just something like, 'Heads up, I'm bringing Kelley O'Hara. Found her on the street, thought she was cute.'"

"With that," Rose weighs in, "we would have thought she'd bring a puppy."

Kelley, who has merely observed the whole interaction from the sideline, literally snorts. "Sorry," she says and wipes at her nose.

"You would've never believed me, anyway," Emily offendedly argues with a deep crease between her eyebrows. "That's why I didn't say anything!"

Rose just rolls her eyes.

"Okay, I don't know about you guys, but now I need a beer," Lindsey announces. "Kelley, fancy a beer?"

"Always," Kelley smirks.

Lindsey nods, "IPA coming up." She turns on her heels, the towel on her shoulder flying around, but then the doorbell rings.

"Linds, go get the door, I get the beer," Rose says and hops towards the kitchen.

"Let me help you with that," Kelley joins in.

Lindsey grunts as confirmation and disappears behind the corridor wall in three long strides. Emily can hear the creaking of the front door as it is opened. There is some commotion coming from the entrance and then Emily's little sister Emma jumps into the living room, her blonde hair perfectly styled with a curling iron and wearing a nice, dark blue dress. She opens her arms wide and screams. "Tadaaa!"

Lindsey pats her on the back and says drily, "Yes, Happy Birthday. Now let me get back to my pork." She shimmies by her, then stops and smirks. "By the way, your sister's brought a date."

Emma's eyes go wide. "You brought what?" she practically yells at Emily in excitement. "And I thought I'd never see the day...," she laughs and is about to hug her sister when her eyes land on said date who just reemerges from the kitchen with a sweating bottle in her hand. Emma's mouth hangs open, her arms are still comically outstretched. "Holy fuck."

"Yeah," Emily sheepishly signals behind her. "So, um, this is Kelley...and Kelley, this is Emma, my little sister."

Kelley waves. "Hey."

"Happy Hatchday!" Emily adds with a pitiful attempt on jazz hands.

"Oh god," Emma says and sits down on the edge of a dining room chair, almost slipping off. "This is one of those key moments in life, right? When it's possible to be really, really cool—and I'm about to fail like three hundred percent." She squirms a little in her tight dress, but looks right at Kelley, the others in the room completely forgotten. "I absolutely and totally and utterly adore you and I think you're the most beautiful woman in the world. And I'm not even gay! But you are, from what I heard, and you here with Sonny and if you can stand her long enough to stick around a little longer, wouldn't today be the perfect start of a wonderful friendship? What do you think?"

Lindsey throws Rose a pointed look.

"Um...I think that sounds—you know, lucky me?" Kelley replies nervously. But then she outstretches her hands, offering Emma a tiny present. "Happy Birthday."

"Oh. My. God. You gave me a present. We're best friends already. Marry Sonny, yeah? She's dorky, I know, but she's a really nice one and then we can be sisters-in-law."

Kelley laughs. It's a genuine laugh that rises from deep in her throat. It's a little raspy. Emily loves it. "I'll think about it."

Then the front door bell goes again.

"That'll be Sam," Lindsey says and heads to the entrance. "Hi, Sam."

"I'm so sorry I'm so late. Botched it at work again. Millions down the drain."

They enter the living room together, and its quite a sight, because Sam is even taller than Lindsey, but instead of Lindsey's usual glowering expression, Sam just looks a little eager and a lot thrilled.

"Sam...this is Kelley," Lindsey introduces right away, not unintentionally.

"Oh, hello Kelley, delighted to meet you!" Without a pause, she turns around to Emma. "Hey little one, happy birthday to you. Here," she hands her a sloppily wrapped present with a big pink ribbon on top. "It's a hat. You don't even have to wear it or anything. You can just put it up in your apartment, next to the other hats I gave you the last years. Might make for a nice collection." She beams and is completely oblivious to the ten pairs of eyes that are looking back at her.  
  
  
//  
  


A few minutes later, Emily is cutting open baked potatoes with one hand in an oven cloth and the other armed with a knife. Lindsey is next to her, poking the pork that looks more like an overcooked mashup of silica and bark mulch.

"Have you slept with her already?"

Emily accidentally cuts all the way through the potato and into the wooden board underneath. "Jesus, Linds!" She puts down the knife and pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "That is a cheap question and the answer is, of course, no comment."

"'No comment' means 'yes'."

She vehemently shakes her head. "No, it doesn't."

"Uh-huh. And what's gotten you all so flustered?"

"I'm not flustered."

"Your cheeks are a pink," Lindsey smirks. "Have you gotten off on her, then?"

"Linds! Stop it!" She throws the oven cloth away and bolts out of the kitchen.

"See, it means 'yes'."  
  
  
//  
  


On the other side of the apartment, Sam sips on her beer, her body turned towards Kelley, who absentmindedly picks on the lapel of her IPA.

"So tell me, Kelley. What do you do?"

"I'm an actress."

"Awesome! I'm working in stock exchange, so not really similar fields, though I have done some amateur stuff back in the day. You know, I was in 'Cats' once. Not the original show, but a small production? Being all _jellicle_ and all that jazz." She chuckles at herself. "Anyways, I imagined it's a pretty tough job, though. Acting, I mean. The wages are scandalous, aren't they?"

If Kelley thinks anything, it's certainly not written over her face. She looks intrigued, and pays proper attention. "They can be," she admits.

"I know some friends from university, clever gals, they've been in the business longer than you. I think they're scraping by on ten, eleven thousand a year. That's no life." She takes a sip. "What sort of acting do you do?"

"Movies, mainly."

"Oh great, well done. How's the pay in movies?" She turns even more into Kelley. "I mean, last film you did, what did they pay you?"

"Twenty three million dollars."

Sam chokes on her beer. "Yeah, okay. That's...quite...good, I suppose? Yeah. Um." She frantically looks around and then eyes the snacks on the couch table. "Fancy some nuts?"  
  
As if Lindsey had a nose for tension, she exits the kitchen with a huge plate full of backed potatoes, cooked vegetables and something that is supposed to resemble BBQ pulled pork. Steam is coming off the food and it smells slightly burned, but quite delicious. "I think we're ready."

Emily moves off the kitchen doorframe and motions her sister to take a seat at the dinner table. Sam is already seated, a broad napkin expectantly tucked into the hem of her shirt, secured by her chin.

While everyone hustles and shuffles, Kelley looks a bit lost. She turns to Rose. "I wonder if you could tell me where the...?"

"Oh, sure, it's down the corridor on the right."

"I'll show you!" Emma jumps from her chair, almost flipping over the table in process.  
  
Lindsey curses and secures the food with her whole body.

As soon as Kelley and Emma have left the living room, Rose hushes to everyone. "Quick, quick, what the hell are you doing here with Kelley O'Hara?"  
  
Sam's face falls. "Kelley O'Hara?"

"Yes."

"The movie star?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh god. Oh god. Oh shitty god."

"You didn't know?" Emily asks in disbelief.

"No, I didn't know!" She looks like a deer caught in headlights. "How was I supposed to know?"

"By looking at her!?" Rose points out.

Now Sam looks like she's on the verge of tears. "Oh man, and I asked her how much she earns...!" She slaps her hands over her mouth.

Lindsey is ready to throw a potato. "You asked her...WHAT?"

"How was I supposed to know??" Sam shouts.

"Shhhh!"

At the same time, Emma sneaks back around the corner and glides into the empty chair next to Sam. "I don't believe it," she whispers. "I walked into the bathroom with her. I was still talking when she started unbuttoning her jeans..."

"Please tell me you left on time," Emily begs, her light brows worried into a heavy frown.

"She had to ask me to leave." Emma admits.

"Okay, enough of Sonny's girlfriend, we need to eat the food when it's still hot." Lindsey claps. "Chop, chop!"  
  
  
//  
  
  
It is a little later, the food on everyone's plate mostly savored, when Rose turns to Kelley, who sits to her right. "What did you think of the pulled pork?"

Kelley hides her nose in her shoulder, before whispering back, "I'm vegan."

"Oh god." Rose quickly covers her mouth with her napkin and hushes back, "Don't tell Linds, don't ever tell Linds."

Kelley chuckles and pretends to zip her mouth shut.

"What are you two whispering about?"

"Nothing," Rose says innocently.

Lindsey glares across the table.

"Okay, fine, I was just amazed by Kelley's freckles. There you go."

"Who asks a stranger about their freckles?" Lindsey shoots back.

"Firstly, she is not a stranger. She just ate your burned pulled whatsoever and didn't puke. She is officially in the friend-zone. Secondly," Rose emphasizes, before Lindsey can interrupt her, "if nobody on this table is brave enough to talk about those damn cute freckles, I certainly will."

This is the moment for Emily when everything kind of falls into place—the moment she sees Kelley O'Hara blush. The color starts on her checks, just faintly, but grows stronger and spreads over her face to her ears. It makes her freckles look even darker and it does something to her eyes, that Emily can't explain. She is so enthralled to watch her, on the other side of the table, laughing with Rose, that Emily forgets to breathe for a second. How can anyone so far away have such a close effect on her?

As always, Lindsey cuts through her thoughts by announcing that there will be brownies shortly and if she only so much as hears a complaint there'll likely be corpses later. It sends the whole table into a fit of laughter.

When she returns with the promised dessert, everyone respectfully coos over the brownies. "Yeah, yeah," she says and sits back down. When everyone is happily munching, she continues. "Actually, having you here, Kelley, firmly establishes what I've long suspected...that we really are the most desperate group of under-achievers."

Everyone giggles and Sam accidentally snorts a piece of cake back on her plate.

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing. In fact, I think we should be really proud." She looks around. "I'm gonna give the last brownie as a prize for the saddest act here."

There is a deafening silence. Then Emily turns around. "Sam?"

The table explodes in laughter again.

Sam stands up and takes an awkward bow, one hand on her stomach, the other so far behind her that she almost hits Emma. "Thank you, thank you. Obviously it's me, isn't it. I work in a job I don't understand and everyone keeps getting promoted but me. I haven't had a boyfriend since...puberty. And, let's be honest, nobody fancies me, and although I've stopped growing, so did everyone else..."

"Stop it. I fancy you," Emma chimes in. "Or at least I did, before you had another growth spurt two years ago."

"You see—," Lindsey gets into the conversation. "At least your job still pays you rather well, while little Emma here," she points over the table, "earns nothing flogging her guts out at London's seediest record store, still hoping to be the Spice Girl's long lost 6th member."

"Absolutely. Barbie Spice for the rescue! And the shop's not only seedy, I swear it's gonna go downhill quickly with Spotify and all the other fancy apps on the rise. Soon enough I'll have to sleep under a bridge, still dressed in the only fancy dress I own and dreaming of better days."

"See, incredibly sad," Lindsey agrees.

"On the other hand," Rose points out, "her best friend _is_ Kelley O'Hara."

"Oh god, that's true!" Emma laughs. "She needs me, what can I say."

Rose motions to her leg. "At least most of your limbs work. Whereas I'm stuck on these lovely chopsticks, trying to drag myself around in a house full of steps. And to add another insult to my injuries, I also have to bury soccer...forever."  
  
Emily is shocked. "Rose, I'm so sorry."

Sam looks like she might cry again. "That can't be true."

"My career is over. C'est la vie." Rose sniffs. "Surely it's worth a brownie."

Emily reaches over the table, trying to fish for Rose's hand.

"Don't smudge the brownie!" Lindsey shushes her way. "Also, I'm not so sure. Can we all have a look at Sonny. Very unsuccessful professionally. Notoriously single. Probably longer than Sam, but not for the lack of opportunities. Makes you wonder! She used to be quite handsome, but now she's starting to get squidgy around the edges."

"That's not true!"

"I am also absolutely certain she'll never hear from Kelley again after she's heard that Sonny's nickname in pre-school was 'Saucy'."

They all laugh and Emily can feel her ears turn hot again. She chances a glance at Kelley, and their eyes lock across the table. The light twinkle, that Emily saw on her just before they kissed, is back. Her throat feels very dry. To cover it up, she reaches for the last brownie. "So, I'm the lucky winner."

"Wait a second," Kelley says and every head at the table turns to her. "What about me?"

Lindsey scoffs. "I'm sorry. You think you deserve the brownie?"

Kelley shrugs. "I can have a shot at it, no?"

For safety's sake, Emily places the brownie on her plate, guarding it with her arms. "You'll have to prove it. This is a great brownie and I'm gonna fight you for it."

Kelley wiggles her eyebrows. Then she gets serious. "I've been on a diet since I was sixteen, which means basically I've been hungry for almost two decades. And I tell you, I love to eat!" She playfully eyes the brownie. "I've had a few nasty experiences fake dating men and then I had a bunch of not so nice girlfriends. Combined with the pressure to stay in the closet for as long as possible, it was heavenly. Every time my heart gets broken it gets splashed across the internet as entertainment. I also have a fair amount of threads from strangers, wanting to turn me back straight—whatever that means."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not." Kelley admits.

Quietness settles around the table. They all feel that she actually means what she says.  
  
"And for now, my looks are enough to keep everyone interested. But that'll pass, and then they'll find out I can't act and I'll become a sad middle-aged woman who looks a bit like someone who was famous for a while."

They are all very calm for a few seconds, until Lindsey shouts "Nah!!! Nice try, but you didn't fool anyone."

The gang is laughing hard. Sam wipes a tear from her eyes, holding her stomach. Emma reaches over and amicably pats Kelley on the shoulder.

Emily is all smiles. "Pathetic," she shoots. "Absolutely pathetic effort to hog the brownie."  
  
  
//  
  
  
After another hour, Emily and Kelley are ready to leave. While Emily grabs her blue and green jacket from the coat rack, Kelley is in the kitchen with Lindsey.

"That was such a great evening. Thank you."

Probably for the first time, Lindsey actually beams at her. "My pleasure." She holds out a hand to shake, but Kelley surpasses it and goes in for a hug.

"Most people don't know, but I am a hugger."

Lindsey blushes a little.

"And may I say that's really a lovely apron you have there."

"Now you're lying."

"You're right," Kelley laughs. "Told you I was bad at acting." She moves to hug Rose and it's not even awkward, although there are a lot of limbs and crutches to maneuver around. "It was lovely to meet you."

Rose grins. "And you. I'll wait till you're gone to tell Linds you're actually vegan."

Lindsey is scandalized. "NO!"

Kelley just ducks a little and turns to Emma. "Night, Emma."

Emma doesn't even wait but close to forces Kelley into a huge hug. "I'm so sorry about the bathroom thing. I meant to leave but I just...Look, call me if you need someone to go shopping with. God knows Sonny is absolutely useless in that department. I know lots of nice, cheap places...not that money necessarily is a..." She gives up. "It was nice to meet you."

"You too," Kelley says. "Happy birthday again." She waves to Sam, who kind of hides in the back, and Emily and her step outside.  
  
As soon as the door is closed behind them, they both hear a massive and hysterical scream of the gang letting out their true feelings.

Emily is visibly embarrassed and drags her feet, her shoulders hunched up high. "Sorry about that. They always do that when I leave the house."

"I bet," Kelley replies and they walk down the sidewalk in silence. It is already dark out, but the streets are nicely illuminated by warm yellow streetlights.

Emily has her hands in her pockets and looks over to Kelley every few seconds, trying not to be too obvious. Her profile is delicate, soft reflections flickering over her skin now and then. Her features seem relaxed and her whole posture radiates confidence. She's clearly taking in the mild summer evening, a small smile curling around her lips. Emily is enthralled, again. It's quite pathetic, she thinks, how easily it is for Kelley to force her attention on her. Just a little shove of her arm against her own is enough to send prickling chills down her spine. She sighs audibly.

"So 'Saucy', huh?"

"It's the attitude. I was the devil as a kid."

They continue for a bit, but then Kelley asks. "Why is she on crutches?"

"It was an accident, about four weeks ago. Broke bones, the ligament and her tendon."

"And the soccer thing?"

Emily nods. "Yeah, she was really good. Played professionally for a local club." She rubs her chin. "I think she would have made it far."

"That sucks," Kelley offers.

"Yeah."

They walk a little more. The silence is quite comfortable, Emily thinks. It helps her process the whole evening, how she felt at ease with her friends around her and a beautiful girl sneaking glances at her. She can't even remember the last time she brought a date to one of their gatherings. Maybe she never did? And shouldn't it have felt more uncomfortable, shouldn't she have been more anxious, more tense? The truth is, she didn't feel any of that. She only felt joy, and a healthy portion of excitement. This was a terrific evening and she suddenly understands that she doesn't want it to end here.

So on the corner of the next street, Emily turns around. "Would you like to come...my house is just—" She motions with her thumb over her shoulder, but already deflates when she sees Kelleys expression.

"Too complicated."

"Oh, okay."

They cross the street together, but on the other side Kelley reaches for Emily's arm. "Are you busy tomorrow?"

Emily is a little confused, by Kelley's hand on her arm and the question. "I thought you were leaving tomorrow?"

"I was."  
  
  
//  
  
  
They've been walking aimlessly side by side through the mostly empty streets of Notting Hill for the better half of an hour. They round a corner and walk past a five foot railing with lots of rich foliage behind it.  
  
"What's in there?"  
  
"These are gardens. All theses streets round here have these mysterious communal gardens in the middle of them. They're like little villages."  
  
Kelley halts in front of an iron gate. "Let's go in," she hushes with a twinkle in her eye.  
  
"Um, no—that's the whole point. They're like private villages...only the people who live round the edges are allowed to go on." She earns a judgmental head tilt.   
  
"You abide by rules like that...?"  
  
Emily is visibly in dismay, if the wrinkles on her face are any indication. "Um..."  
  
Kelley crosses her arms, waiting.  
  
"Well...hell no," Emily hears herself saying. "Other people do. Not me. Nuh-uh. I just do what I want." She passes Kelley and rattles on the gate. It's a bit rusty and the white paint already peels off on several spots. She wipes her hands on the side of her jeans and puts a sneaker on a horizontal brace, effectively trapping the shoe between the bars. She pulls herself up, tries to find a spot for the other foot, but slips and falls back onto the pavement with little grace. "Whoopsidaisies."

Kelley bursts out into laughter, toppling over and securing herself with her hands on her knees. "What did you say?"

Emily is beed red, her head tucked low between her shoulders. Her eyes move frantically. "Nothing."

Kelley gets back up straight, arms akimbo. "Oh yes, you did."  
  
"No, I didn't."

Kelley nods. "You said 'whoopsidaisies'."

Emily looks bewildered. "I don't think so," she drags. "No one says 'Whoopsidaisies', do they—I mean, unless they're..."

"There's no 'unless'," Kelley laughs. "No one has said 'whoopsidaisies' for seventy years and even then it was only little girls with blonde ringlets."

"Maybe I _had_ blonde ringlets," Emily counters.

"But are you five?" They stare at each other, Kelley with a challenging raised eyebrow.

"Point taken. Here we go again." Emily tries again, gets halfway up, and unfortunately slips again, only to tumble back down with another low "whoopsidaisies" hopping from her lips.

"Oh my god," Kelley roars.

"It's a disease—a clinical thing. I'm taking pills and having injections...it won't last long."

"Uh-huh. Move over," Kelley demands, still chuckling, and nudges Emily to the side. She grips the railings and pulls herself up in one smooth motion.

"Be careful, Kelley, it's harder than it looks..."

She swings one leg over the top of the gate, then the other one and finally she jumps down into the garden. "Come on, Saucy Sonny."

Emily just stares at her through the gate with her mouth slightly ajar. "Or not, yeah, never mind," she says to herself and clambers over the fence. She gets stuck on the top and has some difficulty to pull her limbs along, then bumps her shin midway, until she gracelessly drops down like a flabby potato sack. "Fuck," she whines and dusts herself off. Without the lights from the sidewalk it is quite dark behind the thick hedge. She pushes a rogue branch out of her face and looks up ahead. Kelley is standing a few yards away, in a clearing that is solely illuminated by faint moonlight. Her slim figure is bathed in silver blue, shadows dancing on her skin. Emily catches her breath while she takes in the sight, and at last she slowly walks up to Kelley.

"Now seriously—what in the world in this garden could make that ordeal worthwhile?"

Kelley fists the collar of Emily's shirt and gently pulls her in. She pauses just close to her lips and Emily can feel the breath on her cheeks. "This," she whispers, and then she connects their lips.

The kiss is slow, but with just the right amount of force and all of Emily's nerve endings tune in to the feeling of Kelley's warm and pliant lips against her own. Her body jerks forward, trying to minimize the space between them and it's not long until she is fully pressed into Kelley, her hands on the small of her back. A quiet whimper escapes Kelley's mouth and it makes her surge forward, deepening the kiss and tasting her on her tongue.

When they finally part, Kelley's lips are slightly swollen and that makes Emily grin hard.

"Nice garden."

Kelley smiles. "Come on, let's have a look around."

They stroll over the neatly cut grass, passing thick tree trunks and small well kept bushes, while Emily is always a few steps behind. Eventually, they come across a single, simple wooden bench. There is an inscription carved into the wood, fine dark letters dancing over a worn out surface.

"'For June, who loved this garden—from Joseph, who always sat beside her,'" Kelley reads, and her fingers trace the lettering. She sits down, legs crossed and both hands hooked to the edge of the seat. She looks up to Emily. "Some people really do spend their whole lives together."

Emily breathes in deep, holds Kelley's gaze and her breath, and finally exhales. She nods.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for language. If you have any issues with misogynistic behavior, please be warned.

The next day, Emily jumps down the stairs in just a towel, her hair dripping wet. When she rushes past Pinoe and her upside-down magazine on the couch, a few drops even sprinkle the pages. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she swears and rummages through a pile of books, a leftover empty bag of chips and one dusty slipper. "Have you seen my phone?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Fuck."  
  
She is still searching, now on nearby sideboard, when Pinoe asks, "Just out of curiosity, have you tried to call it?"  
  
"No, because I don't have my own number memorized and _you_ refused to add me to your contacts." She starts opening drawers at random. "This happens every time I'm in a hurry. Average day, my phone is everywhere. As if it follows me around, whining 'Look at me, look at me!' But the moment I actually need it, it just disappears." She kneels down to look under the coffee table. The towel slips. "It's one of life's real cruelties."  
  
Pinoe just lifts her legs, letting Emily crawl below them. "That's compared to, like, tsunamis, or starving children anywhere outside the comfortable western bubble?"  
  
Emily doesn't even engage, because she eyes the time next to the TV and curses again. "Oh shit, I'm late!"  
  
A record breaking six and a half minutes later, Emily sprints past Pinoe in a white button up shirt and dark blue dress pants. She has her still wet her in a tight bun and a blazer loosely thrown over her shoulder. "Thanks for helping me with the phone," she jokes as she fishes her keys from the wall.  
  
"You're welcome. Found it?"  
  
"Sort of," she says and darts out the door.  
  
  
//  
  
  
"I can't believe you dragged me to the movies," Kelley says through her teeth, "to see 'The Lion King'. This is beyond ridiculous."  
  
Emily just shrugs her shoulders. "I figured you didn't want to see your own face on the screen so this is what you get." After the evening she had the day before, she is now practically bursting with confidence. "Just be glad I'm not singing along," she jokes and flashes Kelley a big, bright grin.  
  
"Oh god, no," Kelley sighs and sinks deeper into the fluffy red seat.  
  
Next to her, Emily chuckles. "I'm having so much fun." She grabs a handful of popcorn and munches on it with relish. It's quite loud. When she feels Kelley's gaze on her, she makes a show of plopping a piece of popcorn into her mouth very slowly. "Want some?"  
  
"You know I'm on a diet, right? And there's butter in it..."  
  
Emily enthusiastically shakes her head. "Nuh-uh. We're civilized on this part of the pond, we only have sugar."  
  
In the row behind them someone shushes exasperatedly, but Kelley doesn't seem to hear or care, since she leans over the arm rest of the seat, sniffing at the bucket Emily has in her hands. "No butter?"  
  
"Nope, just corn and sugar. Very vegan, very tasty."  
  
"Huh," Kelley makes and leans back, but her eyes are still on the declining fluffy white grains.  
  
They are quiet for some time, focused on the screen where Zazu gets picked on by two ostriches.  
  
"Okay, give me that," Kelley demands and blindly reaches over. There is some commotion at first, but then they actually end up fighting inside the bucket for the upper hand, until Kelley comes out on top, the bucket held tightly to her chest.  
  
"You made a mess," Emily points out and picks a piece of popcorn from Kelley's lap.  
  
"Don't I always", she replies and winks.  
  
  
//  
  
  
"So who left who?"  
  
Emily looks up from her almost empty plate, a sushi roll squeezed between her chopsticks. "Who?"  
  
"Your last girlfriend," Kelley clarifies, as she takes a bite herself.  
  
"She left me."  
  
Kelley quirks an eyebrow. "Why?"  
  
"She saw through me," Emily says and swallows the maki whole.  
  
"Uh-oh. That's not good," but she grins.  
  
Emily dips another roll into soy sauce. She really likes sushi, but she would have never placed a foot into this fancy Japanese restaurant by herself. It's neat, clean and highly popular. In fact, most of the patrons are well dressed, suits and ties and skirts and dresses everywhere, and she is glad she chose to wear the one outfit for special occasions she owns. Kelley on the other side of the table doesn't seem to be fazed by the pomp at all. She easily maneuvered through the venue, knowing how to talk and what to order like she was completely in her element. It's interesting to witness, Emily thinks and when Kelley meets her eyes and she can see the twinkle again, Emily almost forgets how different lives they actually lead.  
  
"When did you know—," Kelley starts, but is interrupted by a loud cheer from the bigger table behind them.  
  
"No, no, no," a man's voice trails over to them. "Give me Kelley O'Hara any day!"  
  
Emily is taken aback, a frown spreading over her features. But Kelley just shakes her head with a sad smile on her lips.  
  
"I didn't like that last film of hers. Fell asleep like two minutes in," they overhear another man saying.  
  
"Not everything I do is appreciated," Kelley confides with a shrug.  
  
The conversation at the other table continues. "Don't really care what the films are like. Any film with her in it...fine by me."  
  
"No...not my type at all. I prefer that other one—blonde, with big tits—always wears skintight full body costumes in action movies."  
  
Kelley mouths 'Scarlett Johansson'.  
  
"Oh, yeah, Scarlett Johansson!" the first man shouts.  
  
"Probably in rehab as we speak. Aren't they all?"  
  
"As if I'd care. I'm telling you, she's so clearly up for it. And Kelley, man, I heard she's a muff muncher now, can you believe that? A woman looking like her? Makes you wonder what happened to her as a kid."  
  
Emily jerks up, her chopsticks flying out of her hand.  
  
"I mean, I don't buy the act. It's all PR shit, anyway."  
  
Emily clenches her fists, her jaw is set.  
  
"But seriously! Maybe all she needs is a real man showing her what it's like, right?" The whole table roars. "These lezzers are just begging for a thick cock to flip them over and..."  
  
Emily slams her hand into the table. "That's it," she hisses and barges over. It takes her merely two long strides and then she faces four middle-aged guys with napkins tucked in their dress shirts. "I really wish I hadn't overheard your primitive conversation—but I did and it's absolutely unacceptable to talk or even think the things you just said out loud. She deserves so much more consideration and respect, but instead you jerks just drool over her..."  
  
"Oh, fuck off. What are you, her girlfriend?"  
  
Kelley suddenly appears at Emily's side and whips her away without getting recognized.  
  
Emily stumbles with her, cheeks tinted pink. "I'm sorry."  
  
"No, that's fine. I love that you tried...A few years ago I would've done the same."  
  
They pass the counter when Kelley stops. "In fact—give me a sec." She turns on her heels, her black dress flowing around her, and walks straight back to the table. "Hi."  
  
The loudest guy looks up from his dish and recognizes her instantly. His mouth falls open, a noodle hanging out of the corner. "Oh my god..."  
  
Kelley doesn't so much as bat an eyelash. "I'm sorry about my friend. She's very sensitive."  
  
"No, look, I'm sorry..."  
  
"Oh no, you don't get to say that now. You're just gonna remember this, because the next time you talk about a woman—any woman—this is where your mind will go to. Am I clear?" She looks at every single man. "And I am sure you 'meant no harm', and I'm sure it was 'just a friendly banter'," she signals the quotes with her fingers, "when in reality your dicks are all the size of peanuts. A perfect match for the size of your brains. Enjoy your meal. The avocado seitan inside outs are really good."  
  
  
//  
  
  
A few blocks down the line, Kelley is still shaken. "I shouldn't have done that."  
  
"No, you were brilliant!"  
  
"No, you don't understand. With this job, with the...fame, I can't allow these things to happen."  
  
Emily stops her with a hand on her arm. "What are you talking about? If anyone insults a person like that, famous or not, we need to do something—say something."  
  
"But I was rash and stupid."  
  
Emily shakes her head, still holding Kelley. "You were reasonable. And what they did was unforgivable." She pulls a little, to get Kelley to look up to her. "You did the right thing."  
  
They look at each other and Emily sees how the uncertainty and wariness in Kelley's face first crumbles and then disappears. It makes room for another expression, an expression that shows a guarded curiosity and a softness that Emily hadn't seen on her before.  
  
"God, what am I doing with you?"  
  
"To be honest, I don't know."  
  
Kelley sighs. "I don't know either."  
  
They smile at each other.  
  
"It's not that far to the hotel. Walk me back?"  
  
Emily holds out her arm for Kelley to take it. "Of course."  
  
They walk in a comfortable silence, their strides matching each other. Again, it is quite warm out, but a little breeze floats through the city and cools Emily's neck. "If you're cold, you can have my jacket," she offers.  
  
Kelley pointedly looks at her from the side. "Do I seem like a damsel in distress?"  
  
"Um, no, sorry, I thought...um."  
  
"Relax, I just messing with you."  
  
"Oh, okay."  
  
Kelley nudges her in the side. "I'm fine, but thanks for offering."  
  
They continue their walk until they reach the end of the Ritz's arcades. In front of the blue canopy Kelley snakes out of Emily's arm. "Here we are...Do you maybe wanna come up?"  
  
With a loud huff Emily clasps her hands behind her head. Her shirt lifts up and exposes silky skin just above her waistband. Kelley's eyes flicker down.  
  
"There seems to be lots of reasons why I shouldn't."  
  
Kelley steers her gaze away, meeting Emily's. "There are lots of reasons." She bites on her lip. "Do you wanna come up?"  
  
Emily looks hopeful and confused at the same time. She drops her arms, deflated.  
  
"Give me five minutes."  
  
  
//  
  
  
Internally, Emily wants to skip, but somehow she drags her feet across the fluffy hotel corridor carpet to stall some time. When she reaches the door to number 38, her heart rate has reached a critical level. She needs to get control of herself, so she looks down, smoothing her pants and readjusting the blazer on her shoulders. She breathes in deeply, two, three times, and knocks on the door.  
  
It swings only halfway open and reveals a slightly flushed Kelley, who clings to the wood like a sailor who just went overboard. Even her knuckles are white, that's how hard she digs her nails into door. The greeting that leaves her lips is pressed. "Hey..."  
  
Emily seems oblivious, because she steps over the threshold and kisses her gently on the cheek. "To be able to do that is so awesome."  
  
Kelley looks at her for a long moment, still halfway blocking the entrance. "You've gotta go."  
  
Emily is visibly taken aback. "What? Why?"  
  
"Because my girlfriend, who I thought was in America, is in fact in the next rom."  
  
"Your... _girlfriend_?" It hits Emily like a whiplash.  
  
"Yes..."  
  
She can hear some commotion somewhere behind Kelley and someone saying, "Babe, who is it?"  
  
And just like that, a lean brunette with an exquisite, but hard-lined face and high cheekbones comes into view. She is outstandingly beautiful, her long dark brown hair pulled tightly back into a high ponytail, make-up delicately applied. She holds her head high, while she shrugs off an expensive looking cardigan. Emily is not very good at remembering or even recognizing famous people, but she sure as hell knows this one. She quickly looks at Kelley and all she sees there is utter panic. "Um...room service," Emily chokes out.  
  
"How ya doin'," the other woman says, now closely behind Kelley, fiddling with one of her golden creole earrings. "I thought you people all wore those penguin coats."  
  
Emily subconsciously looks down on herself. "Well, yes—usually—I'd just changed to go home...but I thought I'd just deal with this final call."  
  
"Oh, great. Could you do me a favor and try to get us some really cold water up here?"  
  
Emily fidgets. "I'll see what I can do."  
  
"Still, not sparkling."  
  
"Absolutely. Ice cold still water."  
  
She finally has taken her earring out and goes for the other. "Unless it's illegal in the UK to serve liquids below room temperature. I don't want you to go to jail just to satisfy my whims." She winks at Emily.  
  
It takes a lot of self control to stay calm and collected. "I'm sure it'll be fine," Emily says through gritted teeth.  
  
Seemingly satisfied, the other woman turns away and sways back into the suite, but hesitates next to a table that is cluttered with leftovers. She erratically points at it. "Maybe you could just deal with these dishes and empty the trash as well? It's awfully messy here."  
  
Emily stares at her for seconds that feel more like minutes, until she makes a decision and squeezes past Kelley into the room, scoops up the two used plates and heads for the bin.  
  
"Really—don't do that," Kelley tries, but it comes out shallow and weak, "I'm sure this is not her job, Alex!"  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. Is this a problem?"  
  
"Ah—no. It's fine."  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"Um...," she readjusts the trash bin in her left hand. "Billie."  
  
Alex looks skeptical.  
  
"As in Billie Jean," Emily clarifies. "My parents really loved Michael Jackson."  
  
"Good for them," she says as if she didn't really pay attention and flings a ten dollar bill on the dirty dishes in Emily's hand. "Thank you, Billie." Then she whirls around to Kelley, captures her face in both her hands and grins widely. "So, nice surprise, or nasty surprise?"  
  
Kelley swallows, her eyes trained on Alex. "Nice surprise," she squeaks.  
  
"Liar," the taller says and kisses her. "You hate surprises." She lets her hands fall to Kelley's shoulders. "What are you ordering?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, she's waiting for you to order. What do you want?"  
  
"I haven't decided," Kelley admits with embarrassment.  
  
"Don't over-do it. It don't want people saying, 'There goes that beautiful actress with the fat, flakey girlfriend.'" She wanders off, slipping out of her high heels as she goes and disappears in the adjacent room and out of sight.  
  
Emily stands tall. "I better leave."  
  
Kelley just nods, defeated.  
  
"This is a very strange reality to face. I didn't realize—"  
  
"I'm sorry...I don't know what to say."  
  
Emily sighs. "I think 'goodbye' is the word you're looking for." And with that, she leaves the suite, her arms full and her heart painfully empty.


	6. Chapter 6

Emily is a mess. She has dark bags under her eyes and her hair seems to be partying on its own at night. When she gets up in the morning, after another sleepless night spent tossing and turning, she shuffles down the stairs and into the kitchen, not even regarding the messy state of the sideboard with so much as a glance. Pinoe runs loose these days, and she can't bring herself to care.  
  
She survives on coffee, water and a granola bar here and there. She never really was much of a cook anyway, but now she just relies on whatever she can find in the fridge.  
  
The Thursday after her dinner with Kelley she deliberately drops the jar of apricots on the kitchen tiles, smashing the glass into pieces and splinters. The thick liquid spreads out all over the floor and the remaining apricots wobble around like washed up jellyfish left to rot under the sun.  
  
She leaves for work without cleaning it up. She's not proud of it, but she can't seem to pull herself out of her miserable state anyway.  
  
She spends hours in her comic bookshop in a weird daze, absentmindedly sorting through stacks and shelfs she has already sorted through the day before. When customers enter the store she just lets Mal deal with them, hiding behind the cash counter or in the little corner office where she buries her nose in numbers. It sadly doesn't help the shop's financial state, because all the staring doesn't change the fact that she has to come up with a magic plan very, very soon if she wants to keep her business. She is dangerously close to have be going into administration.  
  
But there is no magic plan, no spell that can help her or her shop. So she just keeps going, at snails speed, trying to recover from what feels like one of the worst wounds she ever had to endure.  
  
It's ironic, really, that it takes Pinoe—of all people—to set her head back right. Emily is sitting on a chair in the living room, blowing on a hot cup of tea when Pinoe cautiously sits down on the couch across from her, eying her like one would eye a dangerous predatory animal in a cage.  
  
"Sonny," she starts and pushes back her hat to run her hand through her short hair. It's a faded silver now. "Open up. You can talk to me. I'm in contact with some quite important spiritual vibes. What's wrong?"  
  
Emily looks at her quirky flatmate. The weirdo that eats mayonnaise straight out of the jar, whose collection of one time used underpants could dress a sold out Royal Albert Hall, the one that sits opposite of her, with her eyes open wide and an offering for closure.  
  
"Well, okay. There's this girl..."  
  
"Aha!" Pinoe jumps up. "I'd been getting a female vibe!"  
  
Emily feels slightly intimidated and it must show on her face, because Pinoe immediately sits back down, smoothing out her joggers with two broad strokes.  
  
"Speak on, dear friend."  
  
"She's someone I just can't—someone who...who obviously can't be mine." Emily takes a sip of her tea, effectively burning her tongue. "It's like if I've taken love-heroin or something...and now I can't even have it again. I'm aching for it, I'm craving it—her. I'm longing for her. But I can't get to her. I can't—" She stops herself mid-sentence, shakes her head and puts the teacup down on the coffee table. "She was this untouchable, imaginary concept of a person, but then she entered my life and all I had to do was reach out and touch her. Feel she was real. But as soon as I did, she just turned to dust, flowing through my hands and disappearing into nothingness."  
  
Pinoe hums.  
  
"I should have known that it was dangerous. But I've opened Pandora's box anyway, and there was carnage inside."  
  
"Yeah. Yeah," Pinoe nods thoughtfully. "Tricky. Very tricky...I knew a girl at school called Pandora...never got to see her box though." She cracks up with laughter.  
  
Emily rolls her eyes. "Thanks. That was—yes, very helpful."  
  
  
//  
  
  
A few days later Lindsey hands her a steaming bowl of _something_. "What is this supposed to be?" she asks. There are brown smudged spongey pieces floating around in a light brown broth, accompanied by lean stripes of white vegetables and a slimy grey mass that looks like cerebral matter. Emily winces involuntarily.  
  
"It's miso soup." Lindsey sounds aggrieved.  
  
"Don't listen to her," Rose says and softly puts a hand on Lindsey's forearm. "She couldn't tell the difference between a potato and a carrot if her life depended on it."  
  
"There's no difference," Emily argues. "Both grow underground."  
  
Lindsey scoffs, "Yeah, because that's the main thing to focus on..."  
  
Emily pouts.  
  
"Let's change the subject before someone gets hurt," Rose intervenes. "How are you holding up, Sonny?"  
  
Instead of answering, Emily dips her spoon into the soup and slurps the content into her mouth. It's warm, a little spicy and very, very tasty. Not that she would ever tell Lindsey. She would never hear the end of it. "Alright enough," she finally says.  
  
"You don't look like it."  
  
"I know. It's been a rough ride."  
  
Rose's face displays various states of emotions, starting with affectionate, migrating to empathetic, and finally settling on pitiful. None of these Emily wants to see directed to her, so she keeps her head down and sips on another spoonful of soup.  
  
"And you didn't know she had a girlfriend?" Lindsey asks.  
  
Emily shakes her head. "No. Did you?" Out of the corner of her eye she sees Lindsey and Rose pointedly share a glance. They couldn't be more obvious. "Jesus fuck, I can't believe it! My whole life ruined because I don't follow the celebrity news hashtag on Twitter."  
  
"Stop being a baby," Lindsey says as she helps herself for another serving. "This was always a no-go situation. Kelley's practically a goddess and you know what happens to mortals who get involved with the gods."  
  
"They get fucked?"  
  
"Every time, Sonny, every time. But don't despair—I think I have the solution for your problems."  
  
Emily is not convinced. "Oh, do you?"  
  
Lindsey grins smugly. "Her name is Hannah and she works in the contracts department. The hair, I admit, is an imposition, but she's as bright as a button and kisses like a nymphomaniac on death row."  
  
Rose shoots her a dangerous glare.  
  
"So I've heard."  
  
  
//  
  
  
It's about two weeks later when 'Planet Magnon' hits the theaters. Huge billboards are all over the city and the busses on the street drive around Kelley's face. Seemingly every website she visits displays an ad of the upcoming film. Emily goes as far as to delete all her cookies, revises her browser to standard settings and declines on every inquiry asking to use her data for personalized ads. She is two thirds through the whole General Data Protection Regulation and is fairly sure she could sue anyone who throws another space suited Kelley O'Hara at her inadvertently. Still she can't seem to dodge the media coverage of the world premiere in Los Angeles, where Kelley poses in an extravagant skinny black suit and and tie, her arms around Alex Morgan, dressed in a silky green strapless gown that shows off her perfect shoulders.  
  
"Damn you, Kelley", Emily mutters and switches the app to call Lindsey.  
  
She answers on the fourth ring. "Hey Son, what's up?"  
  
"I think it's time that you hook me up with that Henny person."  
  
The line is quiet for a bit, until Lindsey asks, "You mean Hannah?"  
  
"Right."  
  
"Okay, I'll call you when I have a time and date."  
  
"Great," Emily says and almost ends the call, but then she screams. "Wait, don't call me on the phone, call me on my landline. I'm gonna ditch the phone, hide it in a bag together with a fat brick and throw it in the Thames."  
  
She doesn't completely make good on her promise, but she shoves her phone in a box and pushes it far under her bed instead. After waking up the next morning, she subconsciously reaches for it on her bedside table, but her hand comes back empty. She is a bit confused, because she neither remembers her decision nor where she left it in the end, but instead of spending half a day searching for it, she just shrugs. She doesn't need it that much anyway. The resulting social media hiatus is highly welcomed. She feels like a heavy weight has been lifted off her shoulders and she thinks she can properly breathe again at last.  
  
  
//  
  
  
Emily is back with Lindsey and Rose, half hanging over the kitchen counter, when the doorbell rings.  
  
"Now, be nice," Lindsey says, "And try!"  
  
Emily nods. She hears the door open and a rather loud voice coming down the corridor. "I got completely lost, man. It's difficult, isn't it? Everything's got the word 'Kensington' in it—Kensington Park Road, Kensington Gardens, Kensington bloody Park Gardens..." The visitor rounds the corner of the kitchen. She is a little lush and her hair looks like a two square meter bird's nest.  
  
"Hannah, this is Rose," Lindsey introduces.  
  
"Oh hello, you're on crutches."  
  
"That's a brilliant observation," Rose deadpans.  
  
"Um," Lindsey squeaks and turns Hannah around by her shoulders, "And this is Sonny."  
  
"Hello Sonny. Lindsey has told me everything about you," the guest says with a broad smile and guttural chuckle.  
  
"Has she?" Emily asks a little frightened.  
  
Lindsey chimes in, "Beer?"  
  
"Oh yes, please. Come on, Sonny-Bunny, let's get sloshed." Hannah takes both offered bottles and Emily has barely enough time to send a telepathic message of utter panic to Rose, before she gets dragged away by her lapel.  
  
  
//  
  
  
"Songya—fancy some chicken?"  
  
Emily is sipping on a glas of white wine for a change, eyeing her second date in three weeks. Next to her is a petite girl with black long braids framing her face.  
  
"No, thank you. I'm a fruitarian."  
  
Lindsey is taken aback. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."  
  
There is a long silence and both Rose and Lindsey fidget with the cutlery on the table.  
  
"And, um, what's a fruitarian exactly?" Emily can't seem to drown the complacent attitude that swings in her question.  
  
Songya folds her hands on the table, as if she's ready to give a speech. "When I travelled through South East Asia ten years ago, I encountered a group of people who escaped society and were living their lives free from any socially constrictive boundaries. They taught me how to channel my inner self and how to respect the nature around and within me." She makes a purposeful pause. "As fruitarians we believe that fruits and vegetables have feelings so we think cooking is cruel. We only eat things that have actually fallen from the tree or bush...Things, that are, in fact, already dead."  
  
"Right," Emily says. "So, these carrots..."  
  
"They have been murdered, yes."  
  
"Murdered?" Emily mutters. "Poor carrots. How cruel."

Songya just stares ahead.  
  
"What about grains, like, in your cereal?"  
  
"Even worse," she says gravely. "You'd be killing plant embryos."  
  
  
//  
  
  
"There you go, Maggie, here's your coat."  
  
Maggie, a slim brunette in a simple black dress, smiles a bright smile with the right amount of teeth. "That's lovely, thank you."  
  
Lindsey grins, "No worries. But I'm sorry about the lamb."  
  
Maggie blushes. "Oh, no—I thought it was really, you know, interesting."  
  
"Interesting means inedible," Emily laughs, casually leaning against the doorframe of the corridor. She looks at the new girl to her side and has to laugh even harder when she sees how hard she tries to keep her face straight.  
  
"Totally inedible, that's right. I'm sorry, Lindsey."  
  
Lindsey nods courtly, but you can see the light in her eyes. "I'm not mad, I knew I botched it the moment it came out of the oven."  
  
"I'll be happy to try something else the next time, if you'll have me back," she offers.  
  
Emily just agrees enthusiastically, "That would be great! Lindsey is always looking for more human guinea pigs she can test her cooking on."  
  
A well aimed crotch hits her square on the ass.  
  
"Ouch! That hurt!"  
  
"Then don't be rude!" Rose exclaims. "Maggie, of course we'd like to have you back. But if you don't want to spend the next time with the three of us, Sonny here is more than happy to take you out on a proper date, isn't she?" Rose may look like she can't hurt a fly, but she is definitely a real tease.  
  
"Um..." Emily says but Maggie, already dressed in her coat, walks over to her.  
  
"That would be great," she says and kisses Emily gently on the cheek. She turns, smiles at Lindsey and Rose and heads out. The door clicks shut and two pairs of eyes are on Emily.  
  
"So?" Lindsey asks with wiggling eyebrows.  
  
"She's perfect," Emily answers.  
  
"I knew it!" Lindsey says cheerfully and high fives Rose. "Third time's the charm."  
  
Emily offers both of them a small smile and walks back into the living room, collecting the used dishes from the table. "Thank you for doing this."  
  
Lindsey follows her with Rose close behind. "Of course. You were a miserable piece of shit."  
  
Rose shoots her a glare.  
  
"Sorry, you were miserable—and then I stopped talking."  
  
"Yeah. Kelley really threw me under the bus."  
  
Both other women nod frantically in agreement.  
  
"I just..." Emily says as she carries the plates to the kitchen. "I think you two have forgotten what an unusual situation you have here. To find someone you actually love, and who'll love you back. The chances are..." She begins to sort the dishes into the dishwasher, "...always extremely low."  
  
Rose hops around and sits back on a kitchen chair.  
  
"Look at me. Not counting the American, I've only loved two girls in my whole life, both a total disaster." She picks up a kitchen towel and starts to dry the surfaces.  
  
"That's not fair," Rose interrupts.  
  
"No really, it's true! One of them moves in with me and then leaves me quicker than you can say Lady Gaga—and the other, who seriously should have known better, casually gets together with my best friend."  
  
There's an inconvenient pause.  
  
"She still loves you though," Lindsey admits quietly.  
  
Emily chuckles. "In a depressingly asexual way."  
  
"Actually, I never fancied you much..."  
  
The kitchen towel gets thrown through the room.  
  
"I mean, I loved you! You were terribly funny. But all that kissing behind my ears..."  
  
"Oh god, Linds, stop! This is just getting worse." Emily leans against the counter, staring at both of her hosts. "30 years from now I'll still find myself on this couch."  
  
"Sure, just make the print of your ass in the corner where you always sit even deeper."  
  
Emily groans. "Thanks, really."  
  
Lindsey just smirks, but Rose gives her a pitiful look. "You wanna stay?"  
  
Emily ponders a little, then says, "Why not. All that awaits me at home is a masturbating hippie."


	7. Chapter 7

The morning after, Emily strolls through the streets with her head in the clouds. She doesn't have to rush to work. Lindsey and Rose kicked her on the curb at a little after eight, and usually she enters her shop at ten, maybe quarter before eleven, if she had to deal with another unprecedented mess in the kitchen or her mum calling to complain about the pain in her debilitated leg again. So she isn't in a rush at all.  
  
It's a market day, so as soon as she turns into Portobello Road, she is surrounded by the ubiquitous chatter of the farmers and shoppers, all declaring or demanding, haggling over pennies, ripping each other off or being generous. She passes fruit stalls with ripe bananas and mangos, sporting their colorful skin, touting to be bought, and a newsstand that still sells newspapers and magazines. There is also a little booth that offers various spices and filled olives and which smells linger on the clothes well until the next intersection. At a small bakery, Emily buys herself a cinnamon bun, still hot from the oven, and a few yards down the road she purchases one and a half pounds of ripe plums that she carries home in a green plastic bag.  
  
Back in her own kitchen she is genuinely surprised that she can drop the plums in the sink without risking to contaminate them with unwashed dishes. She makes a mental note to congratulate Pinoe on a small cohabitation victory but then she remembers she did the dishes yesterday before going to her friends' place and Pinoe is probably either still out partying or still upstairs sleeping to even bother.   
  
Emily turns on the faucet and starts to clean the plums properly, scrubbing them with a sponge. Then she takes a small knife and cuts them neatly along the already visible line and finally cores the fruits. She plops one into her mouth and moans, the fruit sweet and juicy on her tongue. Maybe she'll pay back Lindsey with a self-made plum cake this weekend. She's almost ready to start with it just to see Lind's face.  
  
She chuckles to herself and chews on another plum when suddenly the doorbell rings. Emily turns her head around as if to check if there was someone else apart from her in the kitchen that was expecting a visitor on a Friday morning, but it's obviously just her. She debates if she should even answer the door in the first place, but then there is a very demanding knock on the front door that gives her no choice, really.  
  
She saunters into the corridor, still half chewing on the fruit and grunts, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm coming," while she opens the door, only to freeze up instantly.  
  
A dark glassed Kelley O'Hara stands on her doorstep.  
  
Her state of shock doesn't last long, because she immediately chokes on the piece of plum that goes down her windpipe. Her eyes water up and she is thrown into a fit of heavy coughing, while Kelley just waits and observes.  
  
"Yeah, no worries here," Emily wheezes out sarcastically when she finally can breathe again. "I'm alright and don't need any help."  
  
"You looked like you had it under control."  
  
"Clearly," Emily hisses. It's quite unusual for her to be so flippant, but just the pure presence of Kelley brings back a whole lot of uneasy feelings she had tied up tightly and had buried deep in a very dusty and rarely visited part of her consciousness.  
  
"Can I—can I come in?" Kelley asks.  
  
She stays there, fingers wrapped around the handle, and doesn't know what to reply. She rests her head against the edge of the door and just stares a Kelley. Kelley, whose hair is not in the usual tight pony tail, but loosely held together at the base of her neck. Flyaways stay upwards, visible in the morning light. As it seems, her whole expression is less rigid, less controlled. Her shoulders are actually slumping and arched forward, while she holds on to a sports bag that certainly has seen better days. Nothing about her is idealized or glorified—she just looks battered.  
  
Emily sighs and makes a decision. "Come on in." She lets Kelley pass, closes the door behind them and follows her into the kitchen.  
  
Kelley just stands there uncomfortable, still in a coat, while Emily squeezes past her. She thinks about offering her a cup of coffee or tea, but she doesn't say it. Instead, she sits down on a chair and asks bluntly, "Kelley, what are you doing here?"  
  
The brunette takes off her glasses, drops the duffel bag and slides into the other kitchen chair, hands tinkering with the temple of the frame. "It was—" she starts, but stops herself to drop the glasses altogether. "They were taken years ago...I know it was—well, I was poor and that's what people do in this industry. It happens a lot, but it's...I mean, that's not an excuse, but..." she cracks a finger. "To make things worse, it now appears someone was filming me as well."  
  
Emily's left eyebrow shoots up.  
  
"So what was a stupid photoshoot now looks like a fucking porno." Kelley falls forward in despair and slams her forehead into the table. "The pictures are horrible," she mumbles against the cold surface. "They're so grainy...they make me look like...ugh!" She exclaims, but the sound is muffled, so it strikes more as admitting to a defeat than uttering in protest as it was originally intended. "It's definitely me. I know it, they know it. And now they're everywhere." She turns her face so she can look up at Emily. "I'm just in London for two days—but with your papers and paparazzis it's currently the worst place to be."  
  
Emily just sits there, not knowing how to properly respond.  
  
"I'm sorry, I just didn't know where to go. The hotel is surrounded."  
  
"This is the place," Emily hears herself say and is quite surprised by her sudden change of mind.  
  
There is the faintest movement on the corner of Kelley's mouth. Apparently she said the right thing.  
  
"Thanks. I would have called but...I had to act very fast."  
  
"My phone disappeared mafia style anyway," Emily reminisces.  
  
Kelley throws her a questioning look.  
  
"Anyhow," she says, "stop thinking about it for now. There's no use." She gets up from the chair. "Let me just call my assistant at the shop and then we'll sort out the rest." She is almost halfway up the stairs to get the stationary phone, when she comes back down a few steps, and stretches herself over the railing, a foot in the air. "Sorry, I forgot, are you hungry? I have some plums." She points to the sink. "I was gonna make a pastry tart, but I guess I can make half, if you wanna eat them fresh?"  
  
"I'm not hungry, but thanks."  
  
"Okay then. Um...fancy a tea...or a bath?"  
  
Kelley sighs. "A bath would be nice."  
  
"Sure, coming right up."  
  
  
//  
  
  
Pinoe enters the house with the blue door effectively glued to her phone. Her nose is so close to the screen that the tip is lighted up like the jaundice version of Rudolph. "Holy Maria," she whistles through her teeth as she stumbles up the flight of stairs. "Brilliant...fantastic...magnificent..." She pushes through the closed bathroom door, tucks the phone between her chin and her chest which gives her a very odd double chin and starts to unzip her pants.  
  
"You must be the flatmate," Kelley says from the bathtub, hair wet and covered in a thick layer of white bubbles.  
  
Pinoe shrieks, jumps a bit and drops the phone on the floor. It slides across the slippery tiles and comes to a stop at the bottom of the bathtub. "Shit." She frantically looks from Kelley down to her phone, which shows a brightly illuminated _other_ version of Kelley, and then up to her face and down to her phone again.  
  
"Oh man, I'm sorry," she says, lunges forward to retrieve her phone but averts her eyes in the meantime. It looks quite comical how her hands blindly fumble around on the tiles while her gaze is determinedly focused on the ceiling. When she finally gets a hold of the phone, she pockets it and scoots back until her back hits the door. "I'm gonna take a wee in the kitchen sink then."  
  
Kelley laughs. "I don't think Sonny's gonna appreciate that." She dips a little lower into the bathtub until even her chin is immersed in bubbles. "Also, there are plums drying."  
  
It's silent for a second until suddenly Pinoe's eyes nearly fall out of their sockets and she simultaneously raises her right hand to the ceiling, fist balled in victory. "Fucking finally," she yells.   
  
Her whole demeanor is a bit confusing and it even gives Kelley a strange Breakfast Club vibe.  
  
"But," Pinoe starts, and drops her arm as fast as she's lifted it. "How do _you_ know?"  
  
Kelley arches an eyebrow. "How do I know?"  
  
"That he's dying?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Trump," Pinoe says as if it's the most natural answer in the world. "You just said it. Are you getting some kind of cosmic vibes, or are you in contact with departed spirits or something? Or...no way, you're a spy, aren't you? Oh man, I knew it! Sick career choice, by the way, totally a fan," she says and gives her a thumbs up. "Sick," she murmurs again and then she squeezes herself out of the bathroom and closes the door behind her.  
  
Kelley is now utterly confused. It takes her a solid twelve seconds after Pinoe has left to wrap her head around the conversation. But it clicks, eventually, and then she just rolls her eyes and completely submerges underwater.  
  
  
//  
  
  
Emily is visibly more relaxed when she pushes some grilled vegetables from a hot pan onto a small plate in front of a bathrobe clad Kelley. A slice of bell pepper escapes and jumps off the table to it's death. "Sorry, I'm gonna clean that up in a bit."  
  
Kelley doesn't even let her finish. She just scoots back in her chair, holds the towel in place that she has wrapped around her wet hair, fishes the pepper from the floor and plops it into her mouth.  
  
Emily is scandalized.  
  
"Five second rule," Kelley explains nonchalantly.  
  
"Yeah, at your place, maybe. Haven't you met my flatmate?"  
  
"Uh-huh. While I was in the bathroom. Quirky gal."  
  
Emily chuckles. "That is one way to put it." She turns around to serve herself the remaining vegetables. The wooden spoon scratches over the teflon. "You want some toast with that? I think I might have some hummus left as well." She heads for the fridge.  
  
"You really remembered," Kelley says quietly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That I'm vegan."  
  
Emily takes a jar of hummus out of the fridge. "Of course. It's enough that you had to eat the burned pork at Lindsey's. I'm not gonna make you eat out of your comfort zone again."  
  
Kelley smiles. "That's sweet."  
  
Instead of a response, Emily just blushes. She turns around, takes two slices of toast out of a crumpled plastic bag and jams them into the toaster.  
  
She still has her back turned towards Kelley when she hears her saying, "I'm really sorry about last time. Alex just flew in—I had no idea. In fact, I had no idea if she'd ever fly in again...I was under the impression—"  
  
"You don't have to explain yourself. It's fine. It's not often one has the opportunity to adios the plates of a major Hollywood star. Or two, actually."  
  
Kelley shimmies a little in her seat. "It's not okay, Sonny."  
  
It's the first time Emily consciously hears her nickname out of Kelley's mouth. It sends a fast thrill down her spine. Out of nervousness, she scratches herself behind her ear—an old habit she can't seem to shake off. She absolutely doesn't want to talk about it, although she knows it'll probably help her in the end. But the pain and the humiliation aren't gone, they're just very far away. She won't drag them out of the dark places where they have spend the last weeks, dust them off and put them back on the table. Nope, absolutely not.  
  
"So how is she doing?" she hears herself say. Well done, Sonny, well done.  
  
Kelley is probably as stunned as she is, because she clears her throat before she replies, "Do you really want to know?"  
  
Emily thinks for a second, then just shrugs her shoulders. "Yeah, why not."  
  
"Okay..." Kelley says warily. "To be honest, I don't know how she's doing. I haven't seen or talked to her since I broke it off."  
  
The toasts plop up and cut through the resulting silence like a knife. They land on the counter, steaming.  
  
Emily turns around. "You broke it off?"  
  
Kelley nods. "It got to the point where I couldn't remember any of the reasons why I loved her. And it was mutual—kind of. I think Alex just dated me because she liked the _idea_ of dating me, not the actual dating." She jams her fork into a roasted zucchini and munches on it. "What about you...and love?"  
  
Emily hands her the piece of toast and dips her own into the hummus. "Well, there's a question without an interesting answer."  
  
Kelley looks up from her plate. "I have thought about you..."  
  
Conveniently, a big piece of toast gets stuck in the spread and Emily's eyes go wide. "Oh no—no, no...No."  
  
Kelley doesn't even bat an eye. "It's just that every time I've tried to keep things normal with anyone that is, you know, _normal_ —it's been a disaster."  
  
"Absolutely, I appreciate that," Emily is fast to agree while she tries to save her toast.  
  
"This industry is just cruel to people like—"  
  
"Kelley," Emily interrupts her, "can we please not talk about this?"  
  
The brunette looks actually hurt now, but she agrees with a brief nod.  
  
"Great," Emily says and finishes the remaining piece of her bread. "So, this new film you're about to shoot?"  
  
"Yes...starts in L.A. on Tuesday."  
  
"Do you have the script with you?"  
  
"Yup, in the duffel."  
  
"And do you want me to run your lines with you?"  
  
Kelley stops in her motions, fork halfway to her mouth. "Would you do that? It's all talk, talk, talk."  
  
"Just hand it over."  
  
Kelley obeys, bends down and fishes the script out of her backpack. "There," she says and throws the thick bundle of papers to Emily. It flies over the kitchen table like a fat white dove desperate to find its destination.  
  
Emily catches it with a loud huff, a few pages already folded over. "Don't you have a more lighter version of this?"  
  
Kelley furrows her brows. "What do you mean?"  
  
"A _digital_ version?"  
  
She laughs. "I'm old fashioned, what can I say."  
  
Emily smiles at that. She smoothes out the front page, her fingers tracing over the bold printed title. It reads 'Periscope'. She skims through the first pages, and quickly scans roles and sentences. "Classic. Calls herself vegan, but kills a whole forest to have a physical script."  
  
"Thank god you sell comics, and not do anything where math is crucial. 'Kill a whole forest'..."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Emily waves her off. "So, basic plot?"  
  
"I'm a difficult but brilliant junior officer who in about twenty minutes will save the world from nuclear disaster."  
  
Emily looks up from the pages, "Oh my god."  
  
Kelley is confused. "What?"  
  
"This sounds so cheesy and stupid that I bet it's gonna be legit. Well done you."  
  
  
//  
  
  
A little later, Emily is back to cutting the plums and squints at the nearby script every so often. "'Message from command,'" she imitates in a lower voice. "'Would you like them to send in the HKs?'"  
  
Kelley sits crosslegged on the kitchen table, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. "'No, turn over 4 TRS's and tell them we need radar feedback before the KFT's return at 19 hundred—then inform the Pentagon that we'll be needing black star cover from ten hundred through 12.15'—and don't you dare say one word about how many mistakes I made in that speech," she points her index finger at Emily's back, "or I'll pelt you with the bloody apricots."  
  
Emily turns her head towards her. "I threw them out."  
  
"Oh no, the poor things!"  
  
"Were you ever gonna eat them?"  
  
"Ew, don't be gross."  
  
"See." She turns back around and flips a page. "'Very well, captain—I'll pass that on straightaway.'"  
  
"'Thank you,'" Kelley spits out sharply, then changes her demeanor. "How many mistakes did I make?"  
  
"Eleven," Emily deadpans as she throws plums into a buttered baking dish.  
  
"Shit...'And Wainwright—'"  
  
"It's Cartwright."  
  
Kelley groans. "'Cartwright, Wainwright, whatever your fucking name is, I promised little Jimmy I'd be home for his birthday—could you get a message through that I may be a little late.'"  
  
"'Certainly,'" Emily replies. "'What about little Johnny?'"  
  
"My son's name is Johnny?" Kelly whines.  
  
"Yup."  
  
"'Well, get a message through to him too.'"  
  
Emily nods. "'Absolutely,' and then Cartwright's off." She closes the script and slides it over the length of the counter, meanwhile collecting some crumbles on the pages.  
  
"So...what do you think?" Kelley asks warily, blowing at her tea.  
  
Emily drops the last plums in the bowl and shoves the whole thing in the preheated oven. She sets a timer on an old clock that looks like a freshly hatched egg on legs and sits back down next to Kelley. "It's...gripping?"  
  
"Wow."  
  
"It's not Jane Austen or the Brontë Sisters—or even Jane Goldman, if you want to be a little more contemporary—but it's gripping."  
  
"Jane Goldman?"  
  
"The Kingsman films. And a few X-Men, I think..."  
  
"Huh," Kelley takes a sip of her tea. After a few seconds of contemplating she asks, "Do you think I should do Jane Austen?"  
  
Emily puts some stray hair behind her ear. "I'm sure you'd be great in Jane Austen. But, you know—this writer's pretty damn good too."  
  
"Yes—I mean—you never get anyone in 'Pride and Prejudice' having the nerve to say, 'Inform the Pentagon that we need black star cover.'"  
  
Emily chuckles, "Probably not. Poor Mrs. Bennet would turn in her grave."  
  
Kelley furrows her brows. "Did she die in the novel?"  
  
"No, but...The novel is from eighteen hundred something. If she was real, she'd be dead by now."  
  
Kelley smiles her biggest smile of the day. It's big enough to produce lovely wrinkles in the crook of her eyes. "I don't think you fully understand the concept of a novel."  
  
Emily shrugs, but smiles back.  
  
  
//  
  
  
When Kelley comes back down the stairs, now dressed in joggers and an oversized sweater, the kitchen timer goes off. The two yellow legs that poke out of the plastic eggshell start to move with the vibration, inch little by little closer to the edge and finally jump off the counter.  
  
"Oh my god, it's like a support group for kitchenware with suicidal tendencies here."  
  
"I have that effect," Emily says and opens the oven door. Dark fume exits in a puff of smoke. Suddenly there is a very distinctive, very sharp smell of burned goods in the air.  
  
Kelley covers her nose and mouth with the sleeve of her hoodie and rushes to the kitchen window and yanks it open. "How long—" she starts but has to cut herself off because a heavy coughing fit ripples through her body. When she can breathe again, Emily has already pulled a jet-black cake out of the oven. "Jeez. What happened to your plum tart?"  
  
Emily sighs, her hands on her hips and a very judging expression on her face. "Creative differences."  
  
"Clearly. Good thing you don't have a smoke detector."  
  
Emily looks up from the tray, still with the oven mitts on. "We actually had one, but I deinstalled it the second week in. Pinoe set it off almost every day. It was a pain in the ass."  
  
Kelley just shakes her head. "We have to get this smell out of here." She looks around the kitchen, spots a stack of magazines on top of the fridge and starts aimlessly waving them around, two papers in each hand.  
  
"You do realize this is highly ineffective?"   
  
"I don't mind," Kelley says with a grin. "I just washed my hair, I don't want it to smell like plum brûlée."  
  
At that, Emily snickers. But her face falls a little when she starts to break the burnt tart into smaller pieces so she can throw it into the bin. "So much for Lindsey's surprise cake."  
  
"That was meant for Lindsey?" Kelley asks.  
  
"Yeah," Emily says slowly. "For Rose and her...they've been good to me these last weeks."  
  
Kelley rounds the kitchen table and gently takes the baking tray out of Emily's hands. "Here, let me do this. And tomorrow we can make a new one. If you want."  
  
Emily looks at her. "Tomorrow," she lets the consonants roll on her tongue. "Would you—um, yeah?"  
  
"Of course! And I am not such a bad chef myself, I'll have you know."  
  
"Oh, is that so?"  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
They smile at each other and there is a lot of eye contact. The energy shifts a little between them. It's a weird moment, Emily thinks, one of these moments that could mean something, but most likely don't mean anything. But she doesn't stop looking at Kelley, who busies herself with stuffing the cake into the trash. A strand of hair falls out of her loose bun, but she is too concentrated to notice. Something in Emily wants to reach out and tuck the hair back behind her ear, but she still has the stupid mitts on and it'll never be as smooth as she imagines it now. So she stands there, unmoving, until Kelley is already back in her chair, skimming through the old magazines.  
  
"Do you want something else to drink?"  
  
"I'm fine, thank you."  
  
  
//  
  
  
They spend the next half an hour in silence, while Emily is frantically cleaning the kitchen to erase any hints of her baking failure. She is in the middle of a gruesome scrubbing, her top half buried inside the oven, when Kelley's voice trails over to her.  
  
"I can't believe you have that picture on your wall."  
  
She emerges, careful not to hit her head, and wipes at her forehead with the back of her arm. Her brows are furrowed and she looks around the room to understand what Kelley was hinting at. The walls are not cluttered—she made sure of that—but Pinoe taped a few photos and posters of questionable origin to it. "What exactly—"  
  
But Kelley already has a finger outstretched, pointing at a black and white photo of a woman in a full body teddy bear costume, sitting at a desk, an old bulky laptop in front of her, with a suspicious, challenging expression on her face.  
  
"You know this photo?"  
  
Kelley nods. "I've seen it before. This was made by Annie Leibovitz, right?"  
  
"Yeah, that's her partner, Susan Sontag. She was an acclaimed writer."  
  
Kelley chuckles. "A goofy writer in a bear costume."  
  
"The opposite, actually," Emily corrects. "Susan Sontag was fierce and relentless in her work. She never let anyone dictate her how to write, how to live and whom to love. But then—she lets her partner take a picture of her, working like this and it just shows the whole dynamic of the couple. It's a symbol of their relationship, how balanced it is. Both women were so successful but they manage to stay together for more than twenty years, giving each other space and working around and off of each other." She smiles to herself. "This is how being in love should be."  
  
"While wearing a teddy bear costume?"  
  
"Absolutely—happiness wouldn't be happiness without a full body bear costume—and fluffy ears."  
  
Kelley erupts in a rough, warm laughter that spills over the table and washes over Emily like a wave, right there where she is, with the sponge in one hand and the other on her hip. She grins at the brunette and takes her in. They way she is toppled over the table, tears in her eyes. The way her freckles enhance her expression, how her face is suddenly so open and free. Her smile is contagious and she seems genuinely happy. And this realization hits Emily hard. Because maybe, just maybe, this fragile thing between them could be more than just a little dream. Because maybe this little dream has an actual chance to become a possibility.  
  
As always, Pinoe seems to have a strange sense for the right moment, because she bursts through the front door with three big pizza cartons and a lot of fuss. "Voila!" she shouts from the doorway while she kicks off her shoes one by one, still balancing the pizzas. "Garlic Mushroom, extra avocado, extra vegan...for the Queen of Notting Hill." She sways a little on the three stairs that lead from the corridor to the kitchen, but then drops the cartons on the table, right in front of Kelley's nose.  
  
"God, this smells good," Kelley says and inches closer.  
  
"Anything smells good when you've bathed in burned corpse with a hint of detergent all day. Did you overcook somebody?" Pinoe wheezes and then her gaze gets stuck. "And what exactly happened to her? Did she hit her head?" She points to Emily who hasn't moved yet and whose fingers are so tightly wrapped around the sponge that foam has slowly dripped out of it and onto the floor.  
  
"She had a little baking disaster. No biggie. Is this for all of us?"  
  
"Of course!" Pinoe says and collapses into the chair next to Kelley. "Dig in!"  
  
Kelley doesn't need to be told twice, opens the first carton and helps herself to a slice of pizza. It's still hot and a thick scent of garlic spreads across the room. "God, this is good," she mumbles with her mouth full.  
  
At that, Emily finally wakes up from her trance, drops the sponge in the sink and dries her hands on a kitchen towel. After a few more seconds of reminiscing, she turns around to Pinoe. "How did you know? I never even mentioned that Kelley's vegan."  
  
Pinoe grunts. "No, but she's gay."  
  
Kelley looks amused.  
  
"Since when does being gay equal being vegan? Not everyone who's gay is vegan. It's not a mandatory thing."  
  
"Not _yet_." She almost swallows a piece whole. "Lesbians love to be different and we love to challenge. So if you get together with a new lady, and you'll move in together after a week of dating, and you'll have 2,5 cats together—statistically—she's very possibly also vegan which makes you become a vegan too, because you definitely don't wanna go through the argument about the feelings of slaughtered or otherwise exploited animals over the kitchen table if you know what I mean."  
  
Emily just stands there, both hands on the counter, confused. "You're making no sense, as always."  
  
"It really was a weird string of thoughts," Kelley adds.  
  
"Okay," Pinoe huffs and throws up her hands in defeat. "I googled her."  
  
"Yeah, _that_ makes sense."  
  
  
//  
  
  
They have moved up to the little living room area on the first floor after dinner. The sun has started to set and the color of the sky outside changes from orange to more and more blue by the minute. Pinoe has used the overall shuffling to announce her visit to her favorite pub around the corner, but both Kelley and Emily have respectfully declined.  
  
Emily sits on an old chair and is halfway through volume two of the Captain Marvel 2014 series, when Kelley flops around on the couch, her script abandoned on her stomach.  
  
"Why comics?" she asks.  
  
Emily looks up from the page where Rocket Raccoon is currently drenched in pink slime. "Um, what do you mean?"  
  
Kelley sits up and puts the script on the cluttered couch table. "Why did you choose to open a comic bookstore?"  
  
"I don't suppose you'd be satisfied with a simple 'It was the right thing to do'?"  
  
"Absolutely not."  
  
"Oh, how well I know you."  
  
Kelley laughs and swats Emily's knee. At least she tries to, but Emily pulls away her leg just when Kelley's hand is about to slap down. She misses and flings by.  
  
Emily smirks. "When I was little, I used to read Calvin & Hobbes. I couldn't understand half of the humor, but that didn't bother me. I was just so fascinated of how much content one could put in so little space. At that time, books were like the holy grail. They were heavy and thick and when you opened them, you were staring into a void of letters, just waiting to be swallowed. It intrigued, but intimidated me at the same time." She leans forward a little bit, turning the comic book around in her hands. "This never intimidated me, it _fascinated_ me. The different styles, the action packed stories, alternative futures. You opened a comic and a world full of possibilities jumped right at you. You could see it on the first page. It was right there for grasps."  
  
She gets up and puts the comic back into the shelf, right next to the rest of the collection. "I love books, don't get me wrong, but I thought I'd rather make an impact with the kids that struggle with the heavy stuff, like I did. And really," she says as her hands sweep over the wooden shelf, "comics are highly underrated. It's literally an art form. I just don't want people to forget."  
  
Kelley sits up straight. "Wow, that was deep."  
  
Emily can feel how her ears are burning up. "Sorry," she mumbles.  
  
"No, no!" Kelley explains, "I didn't mean it like that. I asked, and I wanted an honest answer, so thank you for sharing."  
  
Emily just shrugs.  
  
"You've got a really big brain," Kelley says suggestively.

The raspy tone in her voice doesn't fit the type of conversation they are having, so Emily is understandably confused. "You mean thick?"  
  
Kelley shakes her head, but her gaze is still focused on Emily. "No, big, like...a head full of thoughts."  
  
"Um, thanks, I guess?"  
  
Kelley snickers. "You do know a lot of people think that intelligence is very sexy, right? I mean, you're obviously very cute and stuff, but a woman with brains...Hmm. Makes me wonder what other secrets you've hidden from me." And with that, Kelley is biting on her lower lip.  
  
Emily turns beet red in a matter of nanoseconds.  
  
  
//  
  
  
"The thing that's so irritating is that now I'm so totally fierce when it comes to nudity clauses," Kelley admits and digs her spoon deep into the ice cream. It is close to midnight and the only light in the room comes from the old floor lamp with its frayed orange shade.  
  
Emily chews on her own spoon. "Remind me again why we are talking about your nudity?"  
  
Kelley shoots her a devilish grin. "So I can get you all hot and bothered, dumbass."  
  
"Excellent."  
  
"Here," Kelley laughs and shoves the tub of ice cream towards the blonde. "Eat more of this, or hold it to your burning cheeks. You're red all over again."  
  
Emily scoffs, but takes the tub anyway. "You don't know that. The light is too low for you to make out such unimportant details."  
  
"Maybe unimportant, but not untrue," she says in honeyed tones.  
  
Emily sighs, digs in and slowly licks the sweet, chocolate cream from her spoon. Kelley's eyes sparkle. It's very distracting. "Okay, back to the...nudity clause in your contract. That's an actual thing?"  
  
Kelley grins so wide that two tiny dimples appear left and right on her cheeks. "Definitely. 'You may show the dent at the top of the artist's buttock—but neither cheek'," Kelley air quotes with two fingers. "'In the event of a stunt person being used, the artist must have full consultation.'"  
  
Emily drops her spoon. "You have a stunt bottom?"  
  
"I could have a stunt bottom, yes."  
  
She picks up the spoon from the table and absentmindedly pokes around in the jar. "Would you be tempted to go for...um, for a slightly better bottom than your own?"  
  
"Definitely, this is important stuff. Now stop moping around in the ice cream!" Kelley reaches for the tub and holds it in her hand, just below her chin.  
  
Emily pouts, "But the stunt bottom...I don't get it. What do you put on your passport? Profession—Julia Robert's bottom?"  
  
"Actually, Jules does her own ass work. Why wouldn't she? It's delicious!"  
  
"The ice cream or Julia Robert's ass?"  
  
"Both," Kelley says with a mouthful.  
  
  
//  
  
  
When Kelley yawns a fourth time, Emily shushes her off her chair and up the stairs into the bathroom. "Go brush your teeth. There is an extra toothbrush under the sink, if you need it. I'll go fix my bed for you."  
  
"Okay, thanks," Kelley says sleepily and disappears into the bathroom.   
  
Emily stares at the closed door for a second, seemingly lost in her thoughts, but then she turns around and heads up the stairs all the way to the third floor, where her room is. She rummages through the dresser to find some clean sheets and beddings and throws the old ones on her desk chair which creaks from the new weight. She shoots the chair an angry look and mutters, "Shut up."  
  
When she has successfully put new covers on two pillows and is currently rather occupied with the duvet, she hears Kelley enter the room with a hesitant knock on the doorframe.  
  
"You look like a ghost," Kelley says, but for Emily it's rather muffled since she is waist deep inside the duvet cover, her arms sticking out and fighting for the upper hand.  
  
"Do you need help?"  
  
"I'm fine," Emily says through clenched teeth. There is some intense rustling of fabric and some grunting from Emily, but then she finally gets a hold of the edges and pulls everything together over her head. "There." She throws the blanket on the bed, smoothing it out as she rounds it. "Didn't want you to sleep in my filth."  
  
Kelley's smile is small, but warm. "Thank you."  
  
Its quite hard for Emily to look at her, since Kelley is only dressed in a oversized t-shirt with a ripped collar that displays a lot of smooth shoulder skin and a prominent collar bone. Her hair is up in a messy bun again and there are some loose strands of hair curling at her neck.   
  
Emily deflates. She doesn't even want to lower her gaze because she knows from her peripheral vision that Kelley isn't wearing any pants and she doesn't know how to deal with _that_ right now. So all she can do is stare past her and hope for a miracle to get her out of this situation.  
  
"Are you okay? You seem a bit tense."  
  
Emily nods curtly in response, and is about to pass her to head back down the stairs, when Kelley's hand lands on her lower arm and stops her in the motion. The touch sends little waves of heat through her body and she makes the vast mistake to look up directly into Kelley's eyes. It's a mistake, because Kelley's eyes are big, and open, and hopeful. She can see right _into_ her, and she sees a promise, a possibility. Her chest constricts, and breathing is hard. She can instantly feel that this right now is too much for her to stomach. It terrifies her. She knows that she needs to avoid the building tension, so she drops her gaze and fixates to the spot where Kelley's fingers are wrapped around her skin. She realizes she has goose bumps all over her arms.  
  
Kelley seems to understand, because she slowly releases her grip and takes a step back, out of Emily's space. "Today has been a good day," she offers and sits down on the edge of the bed. "Which under the circumstances is...unexpected."  
  
"Well, thank you," Emily breathes out heavily and with the exhale her high-strung posture slumps down a little as well. She doesn't even know if she thanks her for the day or for giving her space. Maybe both. But the space between them definitely makes her feel better. She breathes again and smoothes back her hair. "Anyway—time for bed. Or...sofa-bed."  
  
"Right."  
  
The following silence between them isn't awkward, it's rather a mutual understanding. So Emily nods again and gives an odd two-finger salute. Then she turns around and heads down the stairs, taking two steps at a time.


	8. Chapter 8

The sofa is an absolute pain in the ass. Literally. Emily moves around to try to avoid the coil spring that points through the cushions and presses sharply into her lower back. It doesn't help much, because she feels another spring poking into her shoulder blade when she settles down. She sighs and lets her eyes gaze to the ceiling. She can't see much, since the room is completely dark, but some faint lights shine through the window and leave weird patterns on the walls. A dog barks close by.  
  
Emily can't sleep. She is wide awake and her thoughts are running at a hundred miles an hour. She rewinds the day in her head, trying to find the warning signs she's been anticipating, but all she can remember are the fun, relaxed times with Kelley. The conversations they had flew by, always on the edge to bickering, but in a good way. She remembers Kelley's smile, her laughter, the easiness she showed despite the horrible circumstances that brought her to Emily's doorstep in the first place. It is actually quite hard for Emily to understand that all this happened in only one day...That all her resolutions went out of the window as soon as Kelley flashed a small smile at her.  
  
And this smile, if she's honest, is a big part of why she is still up. Because as soon as she left Kelley to sleep in her bed, alone, as soon as she went to lie down on her sofa, she regretted not even acknowledging that there was some kind of yearning, some kind of longing between them.  
  
Emily turns to her side and tucks a pillow under her ear. How could she just run away from this situation? There was a beautiful woman in her bed, a wounded woman, but a confident and funny and gorgeous woman and all she did was hide away on a sofa because she was afraid of her own feelings, because she didn't know how to handle commitment—in any way—and because she didn't want to get her heart broken again? Why did she even have to be so dramatic about this?  
  
She rises from the bed and sits on the side of it, bare feet planted on the floor. She should do something, say something. She should talk to Kelley about this. Because all they ever did was talk about a lot of stuff, but never really about _them_. Wasn't this the time to talk about them? She should tell her how she felt. She should communicate—actually communicate. She should share her thoughts, however unorganized and chaotic they are. She should share her feelings too—the anxiety, the agitation, and the hopes as well. She should...  
  
She lies back down, a hand running through her hair. She groans loudly, and a deep exhale follows.  
  
She shouldn't do any of this. Firstly, because Kelley is in a difficult situation and she shouldn't even think about exploiting her current mental fragility like this. Secondly, she shouldn't even be thinking about her own feelings right now, because she isn't even sure of what she feels in the first place. She shouldn't—  
  
A stair creaks in the dark. Emily shoots up, the cover flying from her body. She holds her breath, is stock still. Another creak, this time closer. "Oh my god..." Emily whispers. Her heart races. "Hello?" she says into the dark.  
  
A slim figure appears at the bottom of the stairs, and the hair casts a spiky shadow on the opposite wall.  
  
"Hello," Pinoe says, her hands still on the railing. "I wonder if I could have a little word."  
  
Emily exhales deeply, her anticipation flowing out of her like a deflating air mattress. "Pinoe."  
  
"I don't want to interfere, or anything..." Pinoe starts and takes a step closer to Emily into a faint beam of light from the street. She is wearing dark biker shorts—the ones that have a thicker padding between the legs—and a loose tank top that shows off a lot of side boob. Emily tries not to look.  
  
"She split up from her girlfriend, right?"  
  
"Maybe," Emily answers guardedly.  
  
"And she's in your house."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you get on very well."  
  
"Yes."  
  
Pinoe nods a few times, as if to tell herself she is absolutely right. "Isn't this perhaps a good opportunity to...feel her up?"  
  
"Pinoe, for fuck's sake!" Emily hisses through the darkness. "She's in trouble, show some respect!"  
  
"Right. Right." The addressed retreats a little, a hand up to calm Emily down. "You think it's the wrong moment. Fair enough." She is about to turn around when she has a change of heart and says, "Do you mind if I have a go?"  
  
"Pinoe!" Emily exclaims.  
  
"No, sorry. You're right."  
  
Emily rolls her eyes, and lies back down on her sofa bed. "Go to bed, I'll talk to you in the morning."  
  
Pinoe walks up the stairs, mumbling to herself, "Okay, okay, might be too late, but okay."  
  
Emily can hear her walking up the rest and eventually disappearing into her room on the second floor. After that, the house is filled with silence again. She follows the light pattern on the ceiling with her eyes for several minutes, or maybe half an hour. Her thoughts still run through her head, but they are calmer now, less demanding. She can almost make herself believe that she'll find sleep after all, when she hears another creak and more footsteps on the stairs.  
  
She shakes her head on the pillow. "Oh please sod off," she says to the darkness without even waiting for Pinoe to reappear.  
  
"Okay," comes a rougher voice from the top of the stairs and Emily is suddenly very, very awake and very, very sure that this isn't Pinoe at all.  
  
"No!" she begs loudly, and jumps off the sofa. "No, wait." Her foot gets stuck in the blanket and she struggles a bit to get free. "I...I thought you were someone else," she says and shoves the blanket to the side. "I thought you were Pinoe. I am delighted you're not."  
  
"Okay," Kelley says again and comes down the rest of the stairs. Her feet touch the steps lightly and it only takes her seconds until she stands in front of Emily, her neck bare, her face open and her eyes fixated on Emily's.  
  
A car passes in front of the window and the moving headlights illuminate the corner of the living room, then flash over Kelley. Her eyes light up for just a second, but it seems like a fire sparking to life. Her expression is raw and exposed and it is instantly blazed into Emily's retina.  
  
She opens her mouth, hoping for words to come out, but before she can utter anything Kelley has gently put her finger on her lips. "Don't," she whispers. She takes another step closer and her finger moves from Emily's lips down to her chin. "Just...trust me?"  
  
Emily exhales sharply. Her head is suddenly very dizzy from Kelley's proximity and her intoxicating scent that wraps itself around Emily like a warm blanket in a cold winter night. "Like I'm supposed to know what that means..." she presses through her lips while her shoulders fall.  
  
"Look," Kelley says and fists her hands in Emily's shirt, pulling her closer. "I'm already here, and I won't leave now, so let's figure this out together."  
  
The words set off a faint but palpable rush of anxiety in Emily's lower stomach. She notices her left hand trembling, so she places it to the side of her leg, smoothing the fabric of her shorts with a single stroke. She hopes that it looks indifferent, but she knows it's just a charade she's pulling off in order to hide the nervousness that leaks from her veins.  
  
When she's comfortable enough to match Kelley's stare, she knows she's screwed. Her eyes are daring and Emily knows in an instant that she won't ever be able to fool her. It's enough for her own breath to hitch. And even in the dark she sees the recognition in her face, small twinkles crunching at the corner of her eyes, a spark, a barely noticeable upturn of her lip.  
  
Kelley chuckles and it's an overwhelmingly endearing sound. Emily wants to be the reason she's doing it again, and so she embraces the cold shiver that runs down her spine, plants her hands on either side of Kelley's face and leans down to kiss her.  
  
It's chaste, but fiery, just a press of her lips against Kelley's. She feels their warmth, radiating between the both of them, and when Kelley sighs tentatively next to her mouth, a fire erupts low in her core, and the heat spreads from her middle down to her toes and up to her ears until all that is left of her is burning desire.  
  
Naturally, Emily's next kiss isn't chaste, it's hard and deep and Kelley doesn't need to be told twice since the fist she has bunched in Emily's shirt tightens even more. Kelley brings the other arm around her neck, nails scratching at the base and Emily cannot hold in the low groan that escapes her throat.  
  
"Come upstairs with me," Kelley says in a raspy voice and detaches slowly from Emily, until her body is only an elusive feeling against Emily's sensitive skin. She tiptoes backwards, slowly, deliberately, her eyes dark spots, calling for Emily, luring her in and keeping her trapped. She moves up the stairs without a sound, but pauses halfway to extend an outstretched hand towards her. "Come on, Em, don't leave me waiting."  
  
Emily gulps, maybe because of the demand in Kelley's voice or maybe because of the nickname or maybe because she looks absolutely stunning in the faint blue light of the night. But her body has already reacted, has already set a foot on the first step, so she stumbles along behind her, her eyes wide and her arms searching for anything to hold on to.  
  
As soon as they reach the third floor, Kelley so much as slams Emily against the door, effectively trapping them inside the room. The force pushes the air out of Emily's lungs and she huffs.  
  
"Sorry," Kelley says, her palm flat on Emily's sternum. "I can be a bit much. Tell me if—"  
  
Emily doesn't let her finish, but pulls her in, captures her mouth with her own and deepens the kiss as soon as Kelley parts her lips. It's hot, warm and wet, and the way Kelley's tongue dances feels so good that Emily's stomach dips. She starts to loose herself in the feeling of their bodies wholly pressed together, flush form chest to waist, where despite the layers of clothing she can feel the swell of Kelley's breasts and an unsteady, skipping heartbeat. It might be to much, Emily thinks, and it might never be enough.  
  
She breaks the kiss only to focus on Kelley's neck, cherishing the soft spot beneath her ear and moving on to her pulse point. She closes her lips around it to suck slightly on Kelley's paper thin skin and Kelley replies with a turn of her head to give her more access.  
She takes this as affirmation, so she bites down, her teeth gently scraping over hot flesh.

That draws a whimper from Kelley's mouth—a noise that goes straight to her head before shooting between her legs. She is surrounded by all that is Kelley. Her radiating warmth, her strong arms, her ragged breath. She drowns in the fresh scent of her hair. It smells like a gentle summer breeze, fluffy clouds passing in front of a sparkling blue sky.  
  
Emily gets high on her. Her deep kisses, her movements, never still, but never impatient. The soft touches of Kelley's hands on her neck, scratching her scalp. Her fingertips against smoother parts of her skin—the sides of her toned stomach, the dip of her neck, especially the firm muscles of her thighs. How she meets every new exposed and discovered place with a movement, a sigh, a moan. And the hard bites on her lips. Emily loves the bites. She loves how her skin prickles, and how Kelley squirms but urges for more.  
  
"Can we do this horizontally?" Kelley asks with unbridled confidence and a hot breath against Emily's ear. "And significantly less clothed?"  
  
Emily can only comply, dropping her hands to Kelley's hips, pushing her backwards until Kelley's legs hit the bed frame and then they both fall onto it, a mess of sheets, limbs, and chaotic heat. It's a blur and at the same time it's crystal clear. It's funny how emotions can blend together, how sparks of vividness stay on display while others mix and disappear, hidden by consciousness. It's interesting how Kelley's lips always manage their way back into Emily's thoughts, how the feeling of skin on skin always sends shivers through her body. It's fascinating how Kelley gets to her easily, how she can barely keep control around her. So after a long time of struggling to keep her cool, to keep herself collected and calm, she just lets go and it sends her somewhere else entirely.  
  
  
//  
  
  
When Emily wakes, the first thing she feels is something wiggly in her face. She turns her head, cracks her eyes open and is met with the blurred sight of five toes that are way too close for her liking. "What the—" she starts and sits up in her bed.  
  
The toes move reluctantly, and then she sees that somehow over night, Kelley O'Hara must have managed to turn herself 180 degrees, since she is now propped up on a pillow on the footboard of the bed like a queen, beaming at her.  
  
"How did you—?" she mumbles again but doesn't get far, because Kelley's laughter perfuses the room in a swift flow.  
  
Emily shakes her head, but somehow that makes Kelley laugh even harder. She can only watch and wait, until Kelley, half rolled over the footboard of the bed, half trapped by covers, comes up for air again.  
  
"I'm sorry," she says. "You look like you put your finger in an outlet and electrocuted your hair."  
  
Emily looks bewildered, but then reaches up to touch her hair. What she feels is dry strands, loose and wild and she doesn't even have to look in a mirror to know what it looks like to a person that probably falls out of bed every morning being plain _perfect_.  
  
"Um..." She clears her throat. "Truth be told, they always have a party without me and I am sick of them never inviting me along."  
  
"Bummer," Kelley says with a wink. "But don't fret, after getting used to it, you actually look kinda cute."  
  
"Thanks..." Emily rolls her eyes.  
  
Kelley chuckles. "You're welcome." Then she flips herself around and the cover, that has concealed her naked body until now, slips away and leaves her bare chested, her perfect breasts and a sea of freckles exposed.  
  
Emily gasps, then covers her mouth with her hand, her eyebrows shot up to the hairline and her cheeks flushed pink.  
  
Kelley looks confused, but only for a second. Then she tilts her head and asks, "How can you be affected by my boobs now? We fucked all night."  
  
Emily's face turns to an even darker shade of pink. "I am very aware of _that_. But it still strikes me as, well, surreal, that I'm allowed to see you naked."  
  
"Yeah, you and every person in the world."  
  
"Oh god, I'm sorry."  
  
"I never really understood all the fuss. What is it with people and nudity? Why is everybody always so interested?"  
  
"Well..."  
  
"No, seriously. I mean, everyone has a naked body. You're naked when you're born, you're naked when you shower or take a bath. You're naked on the beach, if they let you, you're naked in bed. You're naked by yourself, you're naked with someone else. What's the big deal?"  
  
Emily lowers herself in the cushions. "I think a lot of people dream of the things they don't have themselves. And if you consider all the expectations and limitations and ideals that are out there," she motions to the window, "then basically everyone doesn't fit in and that's why the interest is there in the first place. And with the major interest comes new expectations and ideals and with that...we have ourselves a vicious cycle."  
  
Kelley gives her a long look, but Emily doesn't flinch. The brunette is hard to decipher right now, but Emily does her best not to push.  
  
After a while, Kelley hums lightly. "Do you feel the same way with me?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"What you just said. That if you don't fit in the basic spectrum, you thrive for something bigger, are attracted to something that is the ideal?"  
  
Emily opens her mouth to say something, but Kelley keeps on talking. "Rita Hayworth used to say—'They go to bed with Gilda, they wake up with me.' Is that what you feel?"  
  
"Who's Gilda?"  
  
"Her most famous part. Men went to bed with the dream, but they didn't like it when they woke up with the reality." She crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Do you feel that way with me?"  
  
Emily swallows, but her body is completely tuned in to Kelley. "You're lovelier this morning than you have ever been."  
  
The corner of Kelley's mouth twitches, but apart from that she gives nothing away. She just looks at her, straight in the eyes, and holds her gaze for what feels like an eternity. Then she abruptly leaps out of bed and snatches the oversized t-shirt she almost slept in off the floor. "I'll be back," she says but is already half out the door.  
  
  
//  
  
  
Kelley comes back with tray of avocado toast, fruits and tea. "Breakfast in bed. Or lunch, or brunch." She smiles mischievously, puts the tray down onto the mattress, rounds the bed and hops in next to Emily, who just sits stock still and mouth agape.  
  
"Dig in before there's nothing left," Kelley urges and leans across her to snatch a grape.  
  
"I'm afraid to move," Emily whispers.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because if I blink, you and the avocado toast will be gone and I'll be left with a strange feeling that something miraculous has happened that is now completely out of my reach. I'll probably spend the rest of my living days searching for what once was and is now forever lost."  
  
Kelley erupts into laughter. "Oh my god, you're so dramatic."  
  
"Admit it, you like it."  
  
"I do," Kelley says with a soft smile. She plops another grape into her mouth and chews, then looks up. "Can I stay a bit longer?"  
  
Emily meets her gaze and there is a small pause until she simply says, "Stay forever."  
  
They look at each other, their faces illuminated by silky rays of the morning sun. Kelley's face is golden and peppered with darker freckles. Her green eyes glint, the brown spots dancing around, moving with every blink of her lids. A small smile curls around her lips, and a little dimple appears in her cheek. She looks relaxed, happy.  
  
The latter Emily must have said out loud, unintentionally, because Kelley nods. "I would be, if I hadn't forget the jam. Can't be happy without the jam."  
  
"On avocado?" Emily asks in disbelief.  
  
Before Kelley can answer, they both hear the faint doorbell on the ground floor.  
  
"Huh," Emily makes.  
  
"Tell you what. You get the door, I'll get the jam." The tray wobbles alarmingly when she jumps off the bed.  
  
Emily follows her, only stopping at her wardrobe to pull out a tank top she can pull over her head. She looks around in search for her shorts and finds them discarded on the other side of the bed, by her nightlight. When she has those on, the doorbell chimes again and she shouts, "I'm coming!" while hurrying down the three flights of stairs. She comes to a skittering halt just before the front door and yanks it open.  
  
Instantly, she is met with an explosion of flashlights, hollers and shouts. She is stunned, frozen on her doorstep, while hundreds of cameras, phones and paparazzis are pushing against her door, inching in closer like a swarm of angry wasps, whizzing and buzzing and attacking.  
  
"Jesus Christ," she says and slams the door shut. A hand still on the doorframe, she turns around in the corridor, her ears ringing from the big noise that now fades into a high pitched note resonating in her mind.  
  
Kelley peaks her head out of the kitchen. "What?"  
  
"Don't ask," Emily says dejectedly, but Kelley isn't buying it. Instead, she is walking towards her, with a lopsided smile and an arched eyebrow.  
  
"Oh, I know you're up to something..."  
  
And before Emily can stop her, she opens the door and is met with the same explosion of light and noise. She gasps, but her reaction is way faster, so in a split second she's back inside, the door shut behind her.  
  
"Oh my god! And they got pictures of you dressed like that?" she points at Emily in her shorts and thin tank top, her voice unnaturally high.  
  
"Undressed...like you," Emily mumbles.  
  
"Jesus fuck." She pushes past Emily and fishes her phone out of her abandoned duffel bag. With three quick taps she dials and tucks it between her right ear and her shoulder, rummaging through the bag with her free hands. "It's Kelley," she growls into the speaker. "The press is here." She pauses, shakes her head. "No, there are hundreds of them. My brilliant plan wasn't so brilliant after all. Yeah, I know, I know. Just get me out of here." She locks the phone, shoves it back. "Fuck!" And with that, she runs up the stairs, almost mowing over Pinoe, who is blithely heading downstairs to the kitchen in grey briefs, a sports bra and a red tie.  
  
"Morning, darlings," she says joyfully and gives Emily a thumbs up.  
  
Emily is deflated, her shoulders slouched. "I wouldn't go outside if I were you."  
  
Pinoe tilts her head, curious. "Why not?"  
  
"Just take my word for it." She heads up the three small steps to the kitchen, and sinks down in a chair, her head propped up on her elbow.  
  
But Pinoe doesn't really listen, cuts across the corridor in four long strides and opens the door before Emily can so much as shout her name. She is instantly met with loud voices, camera flashes and shouted questions from reporters, but she only smiles brightly, all her white teeth showing and poses in her undies, bra and tie—arms flexed and legs bound inwards, like a gruesome deflated version of The Rock.  
  
She can't keep it up for long, though, because Emily gets a hold of Pinoe's tie knot, yanks her backwards and drags her flatmate into the house, shutting the door with a kick of her foot. She dumps Pinoe at the steps, pushing angrily at her shoulders. "What the actual fuck?"  
  
But Pinoe simply grins and readjusts her tie. "How did I look?"  
  
Emily glares at her. "How did you—? Are you out of your mind?"  
  
Pinoe doesn't even indulge, but cranes her neck, catching a reflection of herself in the mirror bolted to the corridor wall. "Not bad, not bad at all." She flips the tie over her shoulder. "Well chosen briefs, I'd say. Chicks love grey. Mmm. Nice firm buttocks." For good measure, she slaps herself on the ass.  
  
"Jesus fuck," Emily spits out and heads upstairs.  
  
  
//  
  
  
Kelley is almost fully dressed, when Emily enters her room. She has managed to stuff all of her things in the bag, but the thick script is still on the bed, where Kelley is rummaging through the covers, looking for something.  
  
"How are you doing?" Emily asks tentatively.  
  
Kelley whips around, her face red and her lips formed to a sneer. "How the fuck do you think I'm doing?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Emily says lowly, her hands up in defense. "I don't know what happened."  
  
"But I do! Your spiky friend thought she'd make a buck or two telling the media where I was." She pushes the breakfast tray to the sides, toasts long forgotten, finds a sock under the covers and pulls it over her left foot, balancing on one leg like a flamingo.  
  
"That's not true," Emily pleads.  
  
"Really?" Kelley seems even angrier now, her jaw clenched and her fist balled tightly. "The entire British press just woke up this morning and thought 'Hey—I know where Kelley O'Hara is. She's in that house with the blue door in Notting Hill.' And then you go out in your goddamn underwear!"  
  
"I went out in my goddamn underwear too," Pinoe says from the door, her head just about peaking in.  
  
"Get the fuck out, Pinoe!" Emily yells over her shoulder and Pinoe obeys eventually. When she turns back around, her voice shakes. "Kelley, I'm so sorry."  
  
Kelley huffs, "This is such a mess. I come to you to protect myself against more crappy gossip and now I'm landed in it all over again. For fuck's sake, I've got a girlfriend!"  
  
"Wait, what?" Emily is visibly taken aback. She is squinting, and biting her lower lip. "You do?"  
  
Kelley throws up her hands in agony. "As far as they're concerned, yes! And now there'll be pictures of you all over Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr and what not."  
  
Emily makes a move forward, trying to conciliate her. "I know, I know—but...just—let's stay calm..."  
  
"You can stay calm," Kelley sneers. "It's the perfect situation for you—minimum input, maximum publicity. Everyone you ever bump into will know. 'Well done you—you slept with that actress—we've seen the pictures.' You're gonna have a blast."  
  
"That's spectacularly unfair!"  
  
"Who knows, it may even help your business. Buy a nerdy comic book from the girl who screwed Kelley O'Hara." She throws the heavy script into the duffel, shoulders the bag and dashes downstairs.  
  
Emily is close behind her. "Now stop. Stop!" She takes two steps at once and touches down heavily on the landing between the second and third floor. "I beg you, calm down! Have a cup of tea."  
  
"I don't want a fucking goddamn cup of tea," Kelley shouts from somewhere below. "I want to go home!"  
  
Precisely on schedule, the doorbell rings again. Emily runs down the rest of the stairs and passes Pinoe on the first floor window. "Check who that is...and put some clothes on, bloody hell!"  
  
For once, Pinoe does exactly as she's told. "Looks like a chauffeur to me," she yells.  
  
"Great," Emily mutters and sprints into the kitchen. "Kelley! Kelley, wait!"  
  
"Hell no, I'm out of here," Kelley seethes. "And remember—Pinoe owes you an expensive dinner. Or holiday—depending if she's got the brains to get the high rate on betrayal."  
  
"That's not true. And wait a minute...this is crazy! Can't we just shrug it off and laugh about this? Seriously—in the huge sweep of things, this stuff doesn't even matter."  
  
Pinoe raises her hand from the kitchen. "What she's going to piss and moan about next is the starving people in the various states of Central Africa."  
  
"Well, they are! And we don't need to go anywhere near that. My best friend slipped—she slipped downstairs, got her foot trapped between two spindles, ripped off her ligament, cracked some bones...all in one nasty fall. And now she won't ever be able to play soccer again, her one and only career goal." She runs her hands through her messy hair. "All I'm asking for is a normal amount of perspective!"  
  
Kelley laughs bitterly. "You're right, of course, you're right. It's just that I've dealt with this garbage for over a decade—you've had it for ten minutes. Our perspectives are _naturally_ different."  
  
Emily rolls her eyes. "Today's stories will only be a fart in the black hole called social media."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Well, you know—it's just one day. A few stories, a few pictures, some likes here and there, maybe a few nasty comments, okay, I get that. But tomorrow people will post something else, like something else, comment on something else."  
  
Kelley looks straight at her, and there's no mercy in her stare, no understanding. "You really don't get it, do you? This story gets filed. Every time anyone writes, posts, shares anything about me—they'll dig up these photos. The internet _never_ forgets. I'll regret this forever!"  
  
Emily is crestfallen. Although Kelley is only a few inches away, she feels like she's on another planet. Her posture is uptight, unyielding, her face hard and relentless. There seems to be a whole universe of mistrust, broken promises and scorched opportunities between them. Right then Emily knows that they will never be able to get out of this alive, as one. They are shredded into pieces, and all she can do now is save one little fragment, hold on to it tightly, and preserve it as a reminder for what could have been.  
  
"I will do the opposite, if that's alright with you...I'll always be glad you came." She sighs heavily. "But you're right—you probably better go."  
  
Kelley looks at her, and it seems like she wants to say something else, but then the doorbell rings again and she turns on her heels, puts on her sunglasses and heads out the door.  
  
A massive wave of noise—screaming, shouting and camera shutters—washes through the tiny corridor and over Emily. She can see how Allie, Kelley's posh assistant, an older chauffeur with the infamous hat, and two bulky bodyguards are encircling her. In a blink of an eye she is swallowed by the swarm, chewed up and spit out and the black limousine peels out down the street.  
  
She slowly shuts the door one last time, turns the lock. Her steps back to the kitchen are heavy, dragging. With a hand propped up on the newel, she asks, "Was it you?"  
  
Pinoe looks up from the kitchen counter, halfway through peeling a ripe orange. "I suppose I might have told one or two people down at the pub?"  
  
"Right. Excellent."


	9. Chapter 9

The first days after the big bang—as Pinoe calls it—are rough, and Emily is barely able to get out of bed. She retreats into herself, buries her nose into the covers that she can't make herself to change. She still searches for Kelley's scent in the sheets, tricks herself into thinking that she is still there, her warm body pressed against her back, her toned arms wrapped around her middle. She replays conversations and events in her head, not even sure if they actually happened or if she's only imagining these situations. She catches herself several times talking out loud to herself, mumbling incoherent strings of words, trying make them mean anything. She drifts in and out of a restless trance, unable to dream, unable to sleep—trapped somewhere in between, with no way out.  
  
After a few nights in an unsettling abeyance which brings neither commencement nor closure, her body feels worn out and constantly too hot. She develops a fever the following weekend. Pinoe, who has steered clear of her the past days, shows compassion by calling her sister in for help. She solely survives on thin chicken soup that Emma cooks while their mum is on the phone, shouting crackled instructions through the receiver and the kitchen. Emma thankfully also has the sense to strip her bed clean while she naps on the couch and when she climbs back into her pillows later in the evening, warm soup in her belly and her head blissfully dissolved by painkillers, it seems at least part of the heavy weight on her lungs has been lifted and she just might be able to breathe properly again.  
  
When Emily finally overcomes the cold and emerges from her bed without her body immediately dragging her back down, it has already been one and a half weeks since Kelley left. She goes back to work on a Thursday and almost gets one of her ribs crushed due to an overly frantic hug from Mal, who appears to be on the verge of tears.  
  
"Thank god you're back," she whispers and then she adds an even smaller, "Sorry about the finances, I tried everything I could."  
  
This sentence and it's accompanied urgency immediately draws Emily's interest and after a few seconds of contemplation she understands that she has left her shop to an untrained university student who is on the verge of a minor breakdown. It takes Emily three hours and forty three minutes of filing papers and receipts until she is fairly certain that nothing short of a miracle is needed to help her business survive the next month.  
  
Obviously, this realization hits far too close to home. But instead of burying her head in the sand or calling it a lost cause, Emily decides to fight. If anything is worth her focus and energy, it's her life's work. So she rolls up her sleeves and turns her shop and her accounting upside down. And soon enough, holed up behind stacks of comics, graphic novels and invoices, she has found her rhythm again. It's a little off, it rattles here and there, and sometimes she has to force herself to keep going, but overall she manages—if only by a narrow margin.  
  
  
//  
  
  
Summer flies by in a heatwave London hasn't seen in ages. Emily is happy her air conditioning system, although around 22 years old, seems to take on the new challenge and battles the 35 degrees celsius like a champ. The kids on their school holidays, normally playing in the streets, seek shelter in her store, rummaging through the books, quietly whispering secrets and plot twists to another as they read. It's a change most welcome, so Emily crunches down next to them, points out comics that are not Marvel or DC and helps them find adventures of a completely different kind.  
  
And it pays off. By the time summer merges into autumn and the new school year begins, the rare visitors with their cut off jeans and worn shirts turn into regular customers in school uniforms. In late September one of the kids, a blonde boy with crooked teeth and a hairstyle resembling a hedgehog, drags in his very pregnant mum along the bookcases, showing her the new volume of 'Asterix' with so much excitement that Emily is mentally reciting how to perform CPR. She is glad she doesn't need to, in the end, because the little family leaves with the new comic and beaming smiles on their faces.  
  
One Friday, with the sun already setting and the last beams of light shining through the windows, a customer in a black leather jacket enters the shop and Emily almost gets a heart attack because the woman's hair is hazel and she's about her size and for a moment she looks like Kelley—but as soon as the woman takes a few more steps into the shop and turns to pick up a zine from the bargain table the vision fades and Emily can carefully detach her cramped hand from the doorframe.  
  
The streets that were covered in a sea of red, yellow and orange leaves which floated around lazily whenever a chill breeze rolled through Notting Hill, now turn into a muddy brown mass as soon as the first major rainstorm hits South East England in October. Emma visits her one day with an odd looking bloke by her side who struggles immensely to close the umbrella. Every try sends small raindrops flying around the store, coating the books in a thin layer of drizzle drops until Emily throws him out to the curb impatiently.  
  
"Where did you find that one?" she asks when she closes the front door behind her.  
  
"Isn't he cute?" Emma beams. "Oh, by the way, you have to call mum back. She says you haven't talked to her in weeks."  
  
"We talked Sunday, Monday, and two times on Tuesday, so I figured I could take Wednesday off."  
  
"Huh," Emma says and shrugs her shoulders. "Well, you know how she is."  
  
"That I do."  
  
In the beginning of December, Emily wants to build Mal a shrine. The tiny university student has somehow managed to only have one class on Tuesdays so she works at the shop the rest of the week, lifting a huge burden from Emily's shoulders. Despite the typical cold, wet, foggy holiday season in England the shop turns into a festive refuge with all the holly, ivy and other evergreens decorating the walls and shelves. The store is getting more and more customers as the month proceeds and Mal turns out to be a wrapping genius. The speed and accuracy she has while covering books and magazines with Santa and reindeer printed papers is otherworldly. And she never forgets to smile and chat with the kids that are giddily jumping up and down before her. It's like a pine tree suddenly decided to blossom in pink and purple, and Emily genuinely loves it.  
  
The Friday evening before Christmas Mrs. Daugherty from the café on the corner brings them a mince pie fresh out the oven and a bottle of mulled cider which's alcohol percentage verges on gasoline. The three of them drink it anyway, until Emily robs around the aisles on all fours, loudly reciting 'A Christmas Carol' while Mal and Mrs. Daugherty play the various ghosts.  
  
Emily spends the following weekend on the couch with a splitting headache but an overall feeling of finally getting on the right track again.  
  
On boxing day Lindsey, Rose and Sam swarm around the packed shop, standing in the way the entire time and giggling like children.  
  
"You're supposed to help us!" Emily yells over from the cash counter, struggling to insert a new paper roll in the receipt printer.  
  
Rose just waves her off, a little shaky on her feet, since the doctors cut off the cast and took away her crutches. Apart from that, she looks fine—a little pale maybe, but then color douses her face when Lindsey says something to her and the trio erupts into laughter. Emily shoots them a look. They scatter and end up in the back of the shop, where she can see them cracking up over something on Rose's phone on her surveillance monitor.  
  
It finally gets quieter in the beginning of the new year and Emily spends a lot more days alone at work, since Mal has picked up a few more classes. She welcomes the solitude, and finally comes around to do a proper inventory. The numbers she comes up with at the end are positively surprising and she sinks down on the chair in her little office with an exaggerated exhale.  
  
The winter finally picks up by the end of January as a cold front hits the city, covering Notting Hill in sheets of slippery ice. There are only a few pedestrians on the street, comically rotating their arms in pursuit of balance, and the usually vivid, bustling Portobello Market is just a poor imitation of its summer appearance. Emily uses the grey days to research new artists, follow up on orders from publishers and polishing her store from head to toe.  
  
When the ice melts and the spring makes its way, Emily has two calls on the same day. The first call is from her mum, who declares that her leg pain has ceased but complains about how her lower back is suddenly aching gruesomely. The second call is from a sobbing Emma, who can barely be understood by all the hiccups and snuffles.  
  
"He—he—he dumped me..." Emma whines and trumpets into the receiver.  
  
"I'm sorry, sis. Do you want to come over later and narcotize your pain with bad comediesand four buckets of ice cream?"  
  
There is a string of sniffs on the other end, and then Emma presses out, "Hell yes," before she disconnects the call.  
  
After a night of three disturbingly dull movies and inhaling their body weight in junk food, Emma ends up passed out on the couch, her head in Pinoe's lap and her feet placed on Emily's. A melting bucket of strawberry ice cream wobbles dangerously on her belly every time the draws in a breath. When the credits of the last movie roll, Pinoe starts snoring and Emily, trapped by Emma, tries to reach for the remote, unsuccessfully. This is when Netflix decides to play a trailer for a new show and it only takes a few seconds until Kelley appears on screen, sunbathed, her freckled skin barely covered by a bikini, and a gigantic smile on her face as she leaps up onto a surfboard and disappears in crashing waves. Emily takes small, shallow breaths and closes her eyes. But the damage is already done, because Kelley surfs through her dreams for the rest of the week.  
  
Around Easter, the city is blessed with mild temperatures and lots of sun. Emily's business picks up again and Kyle, the little boy with the hedgehog haircut visits with his mum and his chubby baby sister. Even Mr. Smith, the annoying customer that always asks for Dan Brown novels, comes in one day to purchase the first series of the 'Bob Morane' comics, "For my nephew," he says, although Emily is quite sure it's a lie, since the edition is in French.  
  
  
//  
  
  
One rather dull and grey day in the first week of May Mal vacuums the floor and Emily is occupied in the back, relabeling prices, when Emma shoots through the front door and drags a scruffy Pinoe along by her hand. "Hi Mal, you look stunning!" she says and Mal only motions with her thumb over her shoulder, so Emma doesn't linger, but speeds on, almost crushing into Emily who steps around the nearby bookshelf.  
  
"Man, have we got something for you!" Emma sounds very excited.  
  
Emily however briefly looks down to Pinoe's and Emma's joined hands, shrugs and stores away the labelling machine in the bottom drawer of her small office desk.  
  
"Okay, okay," Emma nods, "I understand, but I accept a challenge. Because believe it or not, but this thing we have will make you love me so much you'll want to hug me every single day for the rest of your life."  
  
It's only now that Emily actually looks at her sister, an eyebrow raised in question.  
  
"Blimey. What's that?"  
  
Emma's face lights up and she cracks a smile from ear to ear. "The fucking phone number of Kelley O'Hara's agent in London and her agent in New York!"  
  
She yanks her arms up in victory so fast that Pinoe struggles to detach. Her shoulder makes an audible pop.  
  
"Oh shit, hon, I'm sorry."  
  
But Pinoe just rolls her joint and shrugs.  
  
Meanwhile, Emily asks in confusion, "'Hon'?"  
  
"Well, it is what it is—surprise number two, I guess. But back to surprise number one...Here," she gives Emily a folded pink piece of paper. It is a little frayed on one corner. "You can call her. I know you think about her all the time—now you can call her!"  
  
Emily stands there, a little struck, turning the note around in her hands. "Well, thanks for this one and...congrats to the other?"  
  
Emma beams. "It is great, isn't it?"  
  
"What is, exactly?"  
  
But Emma doesn't seem to hear, because she already has her arm wrapped around Pinoe's shoulder and pulls her out of the shop. "See you tonight!"  
  
Emily sighs, crumples up the piece of paper and places it gently in the garbage bin.  
  
  
//  
  
  
Lindsey bangs a spoon on a wine bottle to get the attention of her friends around the dinner table. "I have a little speech to make," she says. "But I won't stand up because I can't be bothered. I cooked. That should be enough."  
  
"It was delicious—as always," Emma says, her voice sweet like syrup.  
  
"Uh-huh. Stop sucking up, no one gets desert before I say so."  
  
Sam laughs wholeheartedly. "How well you know us."  
  
"Stop interrupting and let me tell my story." Lindsey raises her glass. "Exactly a year ago today, this one here," she points at Rose with her left index finger and uses the other hand to take a deep gulp of her drink, "this one here decided to end all her promising career prospects by falling down a staircase in the worst possible way."  
  
"Thank you very much," Rose comments sarcastically.  
  
"It was a hell of a fall and a hell of a lot of injuries, but," and she pauses for a second, eyeing each and every one at the table, "Rose here is as fierce as you can get and that's why I love her."  
  
The table coos, but Rose slaps Lindsey's arm. "Don't be cheap."  
  
Lindsey smiles at her, and continues, "I just wanted to say—the more I think about things, the more I see no rhyme or reason in life...No one knows why some things work out, and some things don't—why some of us get lucky, and some of us..."  
  
"...get fired," Sam interrupts.  
  
"What? No!" Rose exclaims.  
  
"Yes, they're shifting the whole outfit much more towards the trading side—and of course...Oh come on, guys, I was total crap."  
  
Emma, who sits between Pinoe and Sam, is visibly stunned, while Emily scratches herself behind her ear.  
  
Lindsey slams her flat hand on the table. "Okay, well deserved, but we're here for you anyway. A toast to Sammy—the worst stockbroker in the whole world!"  
  
And with that, everyone raises their glasses. "To Sammy," they holler in unison.  
  
Emma is the only one who doesn't lower her glass after that. "Um," she begins and turns her head around to have a look at every single one of the gang. Her blond braids swing a little. "Since it's an evening of announcements...I've also got one. I've decided—," she bites her lower lip, "I've decided to get engaged."  
  
The table is completely bewildered.  
  
"I've found myself a rather odd, but nice weirdo who I know is going to make me happy for the rest of my life."  
  
Emily almost jumps up. "Wait a minute. I'm your sister, and I don't know anything about this!"  
  
"Is it someone we know?" Lindsey asks.  
  
"Yes, you know her."  
  
" _Her_?" Sam gulps. "Am I really the last straight one in this group?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Sammy."  
  
Lindsey tries to steer the conversation back on track, "Okay, but who is it?"  
  
Emma turns to look at Pinoe. "It's you." She reaches for her and places their joined hands on the clothed table, for everyone to see.  
  
"Oh man!" Rose yells and Emily, out of utter shock, drops her thankfully empty plate on her lap.  
  
Pinoe is also visibly confused, but recovers quite fast. "Me?"  
  
"Yeah. What do you think?"  
  
"Hell yes," she grins. "Groovy."  
  
Emma chuckles adoringly, but Emily isn't having it.  
  
"You didn't even ask her before?" she questions in disbelief.  
  
"She just did," Rose intervenes matter-of-factly and pats Emily on the back collegially.  
  
"Great, absolutely great. This night is going very well," Lindsey claps. "Any more announcements before the cake?"  
  
"Um, yes, in fact—" Emily starts and places her plate back on the table. "Although I kind of need to digest my sister's outing and engagement...to my flatmate. Huh." She pulls a little at her collar to indicate she's quite hot and the table laughs. "But this also shows me how much I have missed in the last nine months. I feel I must apologize to everyone for my behavior. I have, as you know, been slightly down in the mouth."  
  
"There's an understatement. There are dead people on better form," Lindsey replies gruffly.  
  
"Yes, thank you for that, Linds. But I am serious. I have been a shitty friend and en even shittier sister. For that, I am sorry. But I wish to clarify that I've finally turned a corner. I have successfully ignored all kinds of news and gossip about the American. I don't even know if she's still alive and to be honest I also don't give a rat's ass. I am over her and henceforward intend to be impressively happy."  
  
"Uh-huh, nice one. Let's have cake."  
  
  
//  
  
  
It's three hours later and Emily has drowned all her remaining sorrows in wine and cheap tequila. It is a dangerous mix that has effected the others as well. Sam is currently singing 'Blue Moon' to the knife block on the kitchen counter while Pinoe sways around the living room with a pillow tightly pressed to her chest and her eyes closed in utter delight. Rose and Emma are sandwiched together on the couch, both presumably passed out.  
  
"So—you've laid the ghost." Lindsey drowns another shot and bangs the empty glass back on the table.  
  
As a result, a startled hick-up escapes Sam's mouth, but then she continues with the third verse.  
  
"I believe I have", Emily replies to Lindsey's question with a heavy tongue.  
  
"You don't give a damn about the famous girl?"  
  
"Nope, absolutely not." She turns her own shot glass around in her fingers, eyeing the thicker bottom and marveling at the amplified chocolate smudge on the otherwise white table cloth. "Nopedy-nope."  
  
"Which means," Lindsey says and inches closer, her breath fuming from the heavy alcohol, "you won't be distracted by the fact that she's back in London, grasping her Oscar, and to be found filming most days on Hampstead Heath." She turns her phone around for Emily to see. Kelley's pretty face makes up half of the screen and below there is a bold caption reading 'OMG O'Hara: Golden girl filming again'.  
  
Emily's expression glooms. "Aw, fuck."  
  
"So not over her, in fact."


	10. Chapter 10

It only took 400 mg of Ibuprofen, a cold glass of water and her sister's continuous giggling in Pinoe's room to convince Emily to go to Hampstead Heath on Saturday morning.  
  
From the metro station she walks up a few narrow cobblestone streets until she reaches the outskirts of the broad park, and heads up the sandy footpaths, passing veteran trees and little ponds left and right. It's a nice day outside, the sun warm on her back as soon as she emerges out of the woods.  
  
She feels exceptionally calm. She doesn't really know why, and maybe its just the pain killers, but she's quite contempt in her undertaking. Her legs take long strides, the monotonous movement adding to the release of any remaining tension. She looks around, and feels more alive by the minute. She doesn't think about what to expect, doesn't dwell on the possibility that this might all be for nothing. There is a light breeze so she cranes her neck to catch the wind in her face. After all these months pining and existing just a little outside herself, all she feels now is centered.  
  
After a half an hour walk she marches up a hill, her shoes bending the grass, and goes over the crest of it, only to have a full view of the radiant white of Kenwood House, with its perfectly trimmed lawn and its little lakes, and the huge film crew with hundreds of extras who scamper around the estate like a colony of ants.  
  
"God, this is huge," Emily says under her breath and continues to walk closer. After another few minutes she reaches a barrier and walks along to find an entrance.  
  
"Can I help you?" asks a tall bald man in black tactical pants and a tight black shirt that advertises the word 'Security' in bold white letters.  
  
"Yes—I was looking for Kelley O'Hara..."  
  
"Does she know you're coming?"  
  
"No, no. She doesn't."  
  
"Sorry, Miss. I'm afraid I can't really let you through then."  
  
"Oh right. I mean, I am a friend—I'm not a lunatic but—no, you basically..."  
  
"...can't let you through."  
  
"Right," Emily says and is about to turn around, when she sees a trailer door open almost thirty yards away. The first woman to exit is tall and blonde and looks vaguely familiar, and then behind her, reaching for her support to step on the footrest, is Kelley, looking extraordinary in a saffron colored historical dress. It closes tightly around her neck, a row of buttons going down to her diaphragm, where the dress gets tighter, secured by a big bow and then the fabric falls loosely down to her feet. Her hands are covered in crocheted gloves and she wears an extravagant hat with black and yellow feathers on her artificially curled hair. She has a necessary cluster of people—hair, make-up, costume—around her who follow each of her steps devotedly. She walks a few yards, lifting her dress, just so that she doesn't step on it accidentally. Someone says something, and they all laugh and then she casually turns her head...and sees Emily.  
  
Her face is a mixture of genuine surprise and reserved caution, all morphed into a simple smile that says so much more and nothing at all.  
  
Emily does a small wave.  
  
Kelley tilts her head ever so slightly and pauses, as the whole paraphernalia of the upcoming movie scene passes between them. All the other actresses and actors, the extras, and the whole staff create a momentary border between them, divide them, until they moved far enough and the path is clear. Kelley begins to walk, not in her intended direction, but towards Emily, and her cluster follows her on her heels. When she reaches the barrier, the big security guard nods and stands back a pace, and her people hold back as well.  
  
Kelley seems agitated. "This is certainly...uh..." she starts and nervously brushes away a curl that has escaped her hairdo with a gloved hand.  
  
Emily smiles, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her jeans. "I only found out you were here yesterday."  
  
"I was going to call...but...I didn't think you'd want to..."  
  
"Kelley!" the assistant calls. It's not Allie, whom Emily met in Kelley's suite a year ago, but there certainly is a striking resemblance.  
  
Kelley looks around. The baby hairs on her back are a little damp. "It's not going very well—and it's our last day."  
  
"Absolutely—it's very hot outside, and I'm sorry I'm keeping you...you're clearly very busy."  
  
"No...wait...there are things to say."  
  
Emily swallows. "Okay."  
  
"Drink tea—there's lots of tea here." And with that, she is swept away, four people touching her hair and costume, whispering into her ears, urging her onward.  
  
"Come and have a look," someone says next to Emily and this time it is indeed Allie, tall and surrounded by her usual air of confidence. She gives her a noncommittal smile and motions her to follow.  
  
The security guard lifts the rope between the barriers and Emily steps through. She walks with Allie along the perimeter and the dust rises with every step she takes.  
  
"Are you a fan of Jane Austen?" Allie asks over her shoulder when they walk under an archway that is richly planted with pink bougainvilleas and white clematises.  
  
"This is a Jane Austen film?"  
  
"She's never done anything like this—a screen adaption of high literature, let alone something like 'Emma'—but she was determined to get the role. Interesting career choice. Let's see where this leads her."  
  
"She's filming 'Emma'?" Emily mutters in disbelief. She has the weird feeling that this might be too sensible information to be shared with her, but she gladly takes it nonetheless.  
  
When they emerge from the archway they have crossed the grounds in a way that Emily is able to see the estate from another angle. It looks like there is a complicated shot about to happen. Waves of extras in full costumes stroll around, kids dressed in knickerbockers are playing and a huge moving crane rotates over the whole scene.  
  
Allie leads her to the sound desk. "This is Stuart—he'll give you a pair of headphones so you can hear the dialogue."  
  
"Thanks, Allie."  
  
"Enjoy the show," and with that, she turns on her heels and rushes away.  
  
"Here we go," Stuart says, a fifty-year-old man with a grey ring of hair and wearing a mustard colored polo shirt. "The volume control is on the side."  
  
"That's great," Emily says and puts the headphones on. She takes a seat in one of the empty folding chairs and scans the scene, looking for Kelley.  
  
She feels a light tap on her shoulder. "She's over there," Stuart says with a fond smile, pointing at a group of trees a hundreds yards away. In the shadows next to the low hanging branches is Kelley in her yellow dress, cooling herself with a hand held fan.  
  
A tall blonde man, mid-forties, in a grey tailcoat with a high-necked lapel and a matching stovepipe hat stands close to her. He leans his shoulder against a thick branch, casually crossing is legs. "We are living in cloud cuckoo land—we'll never get this done today."  
  
"We have to," Kelley answers. "I've got to be in New York on Thursday."  
  
"Oh, stop showing off."  
  
"You should be careful with the tree. Costumes's gonna kill you if you rip another of these ridiculous penguin suits."  
  
"They'll just come and swat at me a little bit, then I'll flash my magic smile and they'll melt like butter. As always."  
  
Kelley snorts. "In your dreams."  
  
He shrugs and his gaze focusses on an actress a few yards to the left. "God, that's an enormous arse."  
  
Kelley turns away from him. "I'm not listening."  
  
"No, but seriously—it's not fair—so many tragic young teenagers with anorexia—and that girl has an arse she could perfectly well share round with at least ten other women—and still be beg-bottomed."  
  
"I said I'm not listening—and I think, looking at something that firm, you and your droopy little excuse for an 'arse' would be well-advised to keep quiet."  
  
Emily chuckles at Kelley's whit.  
  
"Okay, let's run this one more time," Kelley demands. "So I say, 'Were I to fall in love, I might want to marry. But I never have been in love—it is not my way, or in my nature' and you say..?"  
  
"'Nonsense, errant nonsense, as ever was talked!'" He reels the words off without any intonation.  
  
"And then I...right."  
  
"Yeah, it goes on." He straightens himself and brushes off his coat. "By the way, who was that rather difficult chick you were talking to on the way up?"  
  
"What? Who?"  
  
"The blonde tomboy. She was keeping you for some time. Looked a bit like she was out of it, if you know what I mean."  
  
"Oh...no one," Kelley says dismissively and lowers her fan. "No one. Just some...girl from the past. I don't even know what she's doing here, to be honest. Bit of an awkward situation."  
  
The smile that Emily has worn over the past minutes falls instantly. She clenches her jaw, then nods to herself. "Of course." She takes off the headphones and puts them gently back to the others. She taps on the counter, waving shortly to the sound guy. "Thank you, Stuart." And with that, she shoves her hands into her front pockets and walks away, with her head tucked in between her shoulders.  
  
  
//  
  
  
When she comes home later in the afternoon, Emma and Pinoe are sitting at the kitchen table, giggling over something on Pinoe's phone.  
  
"Don't you have your own apartment?" Emily snaps and directly heads for a cupboard, emptying the contents out on the counter.  
  
Emma looks up, a bit confused by the harsh tone in her sisters voice. "Actually," she starts and swings around on the chair to face Emily. "I wanted to talk to you about that. Because Becs has a new boyfriend and he's kind of spending all of his time at her place and now there's not much room for me anymore." Her brows are furrowed. "At the beginning of the week she asked me if I could move out and I kind of said yes without thinking it through and now..." she motions towards Pinoe, "I'm kind of crashing with her, which also means I'm kind of crashing with you?"  
  
Emily just grunts, piling casseroles and pans on top of each other.  
  
"Is that a 'yes'?"  
  
"Yes," Emily says through her teeth.  
  
"Awesome," Emma replies. "Now that we got rid of the elephant in the room, can we talk about what you're doing there?"  
  
"I'm looking for the baking dish I used when Kelley was here."  
  
Pinoe props her elbow up on the back of the chair. "Interesting activity."  
  
Emma elbows her fiancé. "Shut up," she hisses and then addresses her sister, "And why are you looking for that particular piece?"  
  
"Because I want to throw it out."  
  
"Uh-huh," Emma says. "Because it's broken?"  
  
"No, because I used it when Kelley was here," Emily says and pulls out the long-sought kitchenware.  
  
"Right," Emma drags out. "And are you planning on doing that with everything you touched when she was here?"  
  
"Precisely, that's the plan."  
  
"Oh, sure," Pinoe chimes in and rolls her eyes. "And after you threw out your bed, do you want to sleep in the bathtub tonight? Oh wait—she used the bathtub as well. What a pity."  
  
Emily stands up straight and eyes both of them. "Should we talk about rent, then?"  
  
Pinoe's eyes almost bulge out of her head. "Let me help you real quick with that. We don't need shit cluttering up our lives!"  
  
  
//  
  
  
The next day, Emily is busy doing the accounts in the small back office of her comic book store, when Mal pops her head in, her hands tightly holding on to the old doorframe.  
  
"I hate to disturb you when you're cooking the books, but there's a delivery."  
  
Emily sighs, the fingers of her left hand trapped between several separate receipts. "Mal, can't you just deal with this yourself?"  
  
"But it's not for the shop," Mal says softly, "it's for you."  
  
"Alright, I'm coming." She places down her receipts, closes an open notebook and gets up to walk to the front of the shop, where Kelley stands, dressed in jeans and a simple black shirt.  
  
Emily stops short. Kelley looks gorgeous, with her hair loose and draped over one shoulder, her eyes sparkling, her fingers casually hooked in her belt loops.  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hello," Emily says, but her voice cracks in the middle.  
  
"You disappeared."  
  
"Yeah—I'm sorry—I had to leave...I didn't want to disturb you."  
  
"Well...how have you been?"  
  
Emily clears her throat. "Fine. Everything much the same. Whereas you...I've watched in wonder. Awards, glory..."  
  
Kelley's face falls a little. "Oh no. It's all nonsense, believe me. I had no idea how much nonsense it all was—but nonsense it all is..." She lowers her head and shuffles her feet. "Yesterday was our last day filming and so I'm just off—but I brought you this, and..." She points at a little wrapped flat parcel resting on top of a comic book stack next to her. "I thought I'd give it to you." She lightly taps the packet twice.  
  
"Oh," Emily says and scratches herself behind her right ear, clearly uncomfortable. "Shall I...?"  
  
"No, don't open it yet—I'll be embarrassed," Kelley says with a lopsided grin that doesn't really reach her eyes.  
  
"Okay—well, thank you. I don't know what it's for, but thank you anyway."  
  
Kelley leaves the parcel where it is and takes a step closer to Emily, who warily sways on the balls of her feet. "I bought it last autumn, and just thought you'd—" She stops herself mid sentence. "I brought it with me from New York, but when I arrived here, I didn't know how to call you...having behaved so...badly, twice. So it's been just sitting in the hotel." She collects her hair, strokes through it, and lets it fall on the other shoulder. "But yesterday...you came, so I figured...the thing is..." she sighs. "The thing is..."  
  
"What's the thing?"  
  
"The thing is...I have to go away today but I wondered, if I didn't, whether you might let me see you a bit, or, a lot maybe...see if you could...like me again."  
  
Emily winces. "Kelley, I..." she starts, her voice shaky. But then she stops herself, willing the insecurity and anger down that is suddenly bubbling low in her stomach. "Yesterday that other actor asked you who I was...and you just dismissed me out of hand, like I was just an inconvenience you didn't know how to deal with. I heard you—you had a microphone, I had headphones."  
  
Kelley laughs at that, but it's a weird laugh, a little desperate, and very unnatural. "You expect me to tell the truth about my life to the most indiscreet man in England?"  
  
There is an awkward silence between both of them which stretches out like a void.  
  
Then Mal edges up to Emily from behind. "Excuse me, Sonny, but your mum's on the phone."  
  
Emily closes her eyes to collect herself. "Can you tell her I'll call her back?"  
  
"I actually tried that—but she said you said that before and it's been twenty-four hours, and her foot that was purple is now a sort of blackish color..."  
  
"Okay," Emily exhales, "perfect timing as ever. Hold the fort for a second will you, Mal?" And with that she snakes past her sole employee and disappears into the back office.  
  
Mal is left with Kelley, and she looks visibly distraught. She fiddles around with the notepad and pencil she carries around, meanwhile almost dropping the pen twice. When the silence between both women is too much of a pressure, Mal breaks and enters into light conversation mode. "Can I just say, I thought 'Arrival' was a wonderful film. It is an absolute shame that it didn't get any Oscars."  
  
"Is that right?" Kelley asks.  
  
"Yes...And I've always wondered what Denis Villeneuve is like in real life."  
  
Kelley looks a little confused. "I can't say I know Denis all that well."  
  
"Oh dear. He wasn't friendly while directing the film?"  
  
"Well, no—I'm sure he was friendly—to Amy Adams—who acted in 'Arrival'."  
  
Mal's jaw drops, but she recovers fast. "Oh shit, right. Sorry."  
  
Thankfully, Emily finally returns from the back office, and Mal makes her exit with a lame wave and a heartfelt, "It's lovely to meet you. I'm a great fan of yours. And Amy's, of course."

Emily sends Mal an irritated look, but doesn't indulge further. She takes a few steps closer to Kelley, but still holds her fair distance. "Sorry about that, my mum—"  
  
"That's fine," Kelley interrupts. "There's always a pause when the jury goes out to consider its verdict," she tries to say it playfully, but her agitation is visible.  
  
"Kelley, look—I am fairly level-headed. Not often in and out of love. But..." It's evident from the confused look on Kelley's face that Emily can't really express what she really wants to say, so she starts over with a heavy sigh. "Kelley, can I just say 'no' to your kind request and leave it at that?"  
  
"Oh." Kelley is baffled. "Okay, yes, that's..." She bites her lips. "That's fine. Of course. I...you know...of course...I'll just be getting along then...nice to see you."  
  
Emily takes another step forward. "The truth is...with you, I'm in real danger. We were in a perfect situation, apart from that foul temper of yours—but it took me months to get over you and back on track. I know that my relatively inexperienced heart would not recover if I was once again...cast aside, which I would absolutely expect to be." Her brows are furrowed, desperately hoping to be understood. "There are too many pictures of you everywhere, too many movies. You'd go and I'd be, well, fucked, basically."  
  
"I see," Kelley murmurs. "That's really a 'no', isn't it?"  
  
Emily nods pointedly. "I live in Notting Hill. You live in Beverly Hills, or New York, or wherever you want to live. Everyone in the world knows who you are. My mother has trouble remembering my name."  
  
"Okay. Fine," she says, hurt. "Fine. Good decision." Her shoulders slump, and she is about to turn around, before she decides otherwise. Instead, she closes the huge gap between them, pausing just before Emily. "The fame thing isn't really real, you know. Don't forget—I'm also just a girl, standing in front of another, asking her to love me."  
  
Emily can't say anything, she can only stare into Kelley's green eyes, her heart racing so fast it hurts in her chest.  
  
Kelley leans forward and kisses Emily gently on the cheek, her lips barely brushing her skin. "Bye." And with that, she is out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

Emily is sitting backwards on one of Lindsey's and Rose's kitchen chairs, the back of the chair pressing into her sternum. "So, what do you think? Good move?" she asks around expectantly.  
  
The gang is silent for some time. Rose glances over to Lindsey, who is sitting next to her on the couch, and there is some awkward shuffling from Sam, but nobody says anything.  
  
Emily cringes. "Come on, guys. Can you back me up here?"  
  
"Yeah, good move," Emma finally comes to the rescue. "When all is said and done, she's nothing special. I saw her taking her pants off and I definitely glimpsed some cellulite down there."  
  
Rose props up her legs on the couch table. "Good decision. All actresses are mad as snakes."  
  
Lindsey swats at her shin. "Babe, get your legs off the table. I wanted to serve crackers later."  
  
"So? It's crackers. Later."  
  
"But we have guests!" Lindsey exclaims.  
  
"We _always_ have guests. We're basically a hotel. You cook, I comfort. That's our business model. So no way I am not able to do whatever the fuck I want in my own hotel."  
  
"Brilliant speech, thank you for that," Emily comments.  
  
Rose snorts. "You are most welcome, beloved regular patron."  
  
Emily rolls her eyes. "Okay, I get it, thank you—again—for the hospitality and the friendship, now can we go back to making me feel good about myself? Sam?"  
  
Sam, who has been absentmindedly following the grain on the wooden dinner table with her fingers, looks up. "Huh, sorry? I've never seen this table without a proper table cloth."  
  
Lindsey rolls her eyes.  
  
"Do you think it was the right decision?" Emily asks again.  
  
"Sure, yeah," Sam contemplates.  
  
"Thank you, very convincing. Linds?"  
  
The addressed nods frantically. "Absolutely, never trust a vegan."  
  
"Great. Excellent. Thanks."  
  
They all hear the front door open and close and suddenly Pinoe is standing in the living room in baggy khaki pants, a set of shiny keys dangling from her right index finger. "I was called and I came, what's up?"  
  
"Linds, did you give her our extra set of keys?" Rose whispers from the couch.  
  
"Hell no," Lindsey grunts back.  
  
"Oh, don't worry guys, I just made a copy of my set, no biggie," Emma laughs and literally skips over to Pinoe, jumps in her arms and buries her under an obnoxious amount of kisses.  
  
"Urgh," Emily makes and turns around on her chair, now facing the blank wall. "I don't wanna see this."  
  
"Did she say she has a copy of our keys?" Rose asks no one in particular.  
  
Sam, who has her arms propped up on the table and her chin uncomfortably pressed into the open palms of her hands, answers unfazed, "I mean, I also have a set and that never seemed to be a problem."  
  
"You also have our keys?" Lindsey inquires.  
  
"Sure. I just never use them, because I ring the bell like I was taught to do."  
  
"I taught her to," Lindsey murmurs in Rose's ear.  
  
"Shh, Linds, that's not important—Sammy, what the heck?"  
  
"Why are you mad at me?" Sam says defensively and throws her hands up in exasperation. "Everyone has a set!"  
  
With that, Emily turns back around, scandalized. "Well I certainly don't and I practically live here. Great, now I feel highly valued."  
  
"Stop whining, Sonny," Pinoe says from the corridor. "At least your girlfriend's Kelley O'Hara."  
  
The room suddenly falls silent and every pair of eyes turns to Emily.  
  
"What?" Pinoe asks.  
  
Emma ruffles her fiancés hair. "Sonny has just turned her down."  
  
Pinoe gulps like a goldfish, then explodes, "You daft prick!"  
  
"No, no, no," Emma says and turns Pinoe's face so she can look down at her. "It's fine, we all think it was a good move."  
  
Pinoe nods ponderously. "And what is that?" she asks and points to a partially unwrapped package that is left ajar next to the kitchen counter.  
  
"Just a photo," Emily says vaguely.  
  
Pinoe walks through the living room, picks up the small packet from the counter and rips off the remaining wrapping. She holds the framed photo up for everyone to see. "Oh nice, did you finally decide to give away the weird bear lady?"  
  
"What do you mean, 'give away'?" Sam asks. "Sonny's just got it from Kelley."  
  
Pinoe furrows her brows. "Why do you need two? You already have one of these—on our kitchen wall."  
  
Emily doesn't answer, but just shimmies around in her chair.  
  
"Wait, let me get this straight," Rose says and rises from the couch. "This isn't the original, is it?"  
  
Emily huffs, then admits lowly, "I think that one may be."  
  
"Okay," Sam gets up from the dinner table as well, comes closer and stops to tower behind Rose. "But she said she wanted to go out with you?"  
  
"Yes—sort of..."  
  
"I mean, that's nice."  
  
"What?" Emily asks irritatedly.  
  
"Well, you know, anybody saying they want to go out with you is...pretty great...isn't it..."  
  
"Um," Emily makes and her brows perform a kind of wave. "It was sort of sweet, actually—I mean, I know she's an actress and all that, so she can deliver a line—but she said that she might be as famous as can be—but also...that she was only a girl, standing in front of another, asking her to love her."  
  
The room is dreadfully quiet.  
  
Emily looks around, then sighs. "Fuck, I've made the wrong decision, haven't I?"  
  
Pinoe does a big nod in confirmation.  
  
"Excellent," she says and scratches herself behind her ear. "Linds, how fast s your car?"  
  
  
//  
  
  
They all tumble through the front door, onto the sidewalk and squash into the car, Lindsey in the driver's seat, Emily riding shotgun. The back seat of the station wagon is a pile of limbs and heads, when Sam, Emma and Pinoe try to find a comfortable place to fit.  
  
"I should be in the front," Sam whines, because she has to keep her head tilted since she can't sit up straight.  
  
"We don't have time for this," Emily urges. "Let's go!"  
  
But Lindsey doesn't drive. She just looks at Emily, then into the rearview mirror and back to Emily. "Where's Rose?"  
  
Everyone turns around, looking for the petite redhead, when they hear a knock on the driver's window. Rose stands outside and gives a little wave.  
  
"Absolutely not. Pinoe, move into the trunk," Lindsey commands and gets out. "Sonny—in the back, Rose needs the space for her legs."  
  
"What about my legs?" Sam complains but Emma shushes her with a friendly slap to the shoulder.  
  
They shuffle around like Tetris—Pinoe climbs over the backseats to squat in the trunk, Emily climbs over Sam, who doesn't move an inch, to get into the middle seat and Rose carefully sits down in the front seat.  
  
"Like I would do this without you," Lindsey whispers and kisses Rose on the cheek.  
  
"Aww," Emma coos and turns around to grab a hold of Pinoe, but Emily swats her away.  
  
"Stop the smooching, all of you, and let's get going!"  
  
Thankfully, Lindsey seems to agree for once, because she puts the car into first gear, but releases the clutch a little too fast so the car makes a nice little jump. Out of shock, Emma squeaks into her ear and Emily rubs at her temple until she hears the smooth purr of the old motor. Finally, the car accelerates down the street and it doesn't take that long until they are shooting up Stanley Crescent while nicely renovated brick buildings with creme colored fronts fly by in a blur.  
  
"Where are you going?" Rose asks, her hands on the dashboard.  
  
"Down Kensington Church Street, then Knightsbridge, then Hyde Park Corner."  
  
"Crazy. Go along Bayswater..."  
  
"Yeah," Emma chimes in from the back seat. "And then Park Lane."  
  
"Or you could go right down to Cromwell Road, and left," Sam adds.  
  
Suddenly, the car slams to a screeching halt and everyone braces themselves against the front seats or has to hold on to their seatbelts to not get thrown around.  
  
"Stop. All of you. Stop!" Lindsey fumes. "I am the driver, I will decide the route. Are we clear?"  
  
The gang's response is affirmative nods and murmurs of approval.  
  
"James Bond never has to put up with this sort of shit."  
  
  
//  
  
  
The car makes an illegal right turn on Piccadilly and rushes down a one-way street the wrong way to come to a reckless halt outside the Ritz. Emily rolls over Emma, pushes the door handle and stumbles onto the street, a foot trapped under the passenger's seat.  
  
"Shit!" she says and tucks, but Sam comes to rescue, pulls at her leg and together they fall out of the car and onto the pavement.  
  
"Bloody hell, this is fun," Sam says and her eyes glint with excitement.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, let's go," Emily urges and both barge into the pompous lobby, where Emily makes a beeline for the reception, slamming both her hands on the counter. "Is Miss O'Hara staying here?"  
  
An older man with salt and pepper hair and dressed in a well tailored suit greets them with a nod, but has his stern eyes on Emily's hands. "No, Miss."  
  
"How about Miss Wambach?"  
  
"No, Miss."  
  
"Or Mia Hamm...or, I don't know—she said she always uses names of female soccer players. But I don't know any! Help me out here, Sam?"  
  
The tall blonde scoots closer. "Um, Kelly Smith? Or what about the German players—Nadine Angerer? Birgit Prinz?"  
  
The man shakes his head no. "I'm afraid we don't have guests with these names."  
  
"Right. Right. Fair enough. Thanks." Emily turns despondently and has already made several steps when the concierge stops her in her tracks.  
  
"There was a Heather O'Reilly in room 127—but she checked out an hour ago. I believe she's holding a press conference at The Savoy before flying to America."  
  
"Oh my god, thank you!" Emily exclaims and hops onto the counter to press a wet kiss to the man's cheek.  
  
There is a pink tinge on his face and being perplexed, he ducks his head. That doesn't stop Sam from doing the same, but she only so much as leans over the counter, and pecks the other cheek. "Highly appreciated!" she says with a wide grin. Then they rush out of the hotel and back into the car.  
  
"We have a lift off!" Sam shouts as she pulls in her legs and slams the door shut.  
  
And so they speed through London, barreling over cobblestone, making sharp left and right turns, run a few red lights while Lindsey loudly informs her passengers that they were, in fact, dark orange. Then they get stuck at the junction of Cambridge Circus, trying to turn right into Charing Cross Road, where no one will let them in. Lindsey honks a few times, starts and stops, but nothing moves. They're stuck.  
  
"Bugger this for a bunch of bananas." Pinoe looses her generally thin patience and hops out of the trunk. She boldly walks into the middle of the intersection, holds out her hands to both sides and effectively stops the traffic coming in the opposite direction. "Come on!" she yells and Lindsey slams her foot on the gas and the car hops forward only to abruptly stop when a fast car first narrowly shoots past Pinoe and then past them.  
  
"Fucker!" Pinoe screams after it, but motions Lindsey to continue.  
  
Lindsey finally sees a gap, and the gang drives past Pinoe and on, with Emma leaning out of the window, shouting "You're my hero!" until they round another corner and Pinoe and her junction are out of sight.  
  
Two and a half minutes and a near miss on the corner of Bedford Street later, they pull to a stop in front of The Savoy.  
  
Emily leaps out, with Emma, Rose and Sam on her tail.  
  
"Go, go, and let 007 deal with the parking," Lindsey groans and accelerates again.  
  
Inside, Emily rushes up to the main desk. "Excuse me," she asks the first person she can grab a hold of. "Where's the press conference?"  
  
The man wears a thin mustache and obviously plucks his eyebrows. One side looks a bit off. "Are you an accredited member of the press?" he asks.  
  
"Yes..." Emily says vaguely. She fishes her wallet out of her pocket, and flashes a random blue and white card, with her hand covering half of the plastic.  
  
"That's your Oyster card, for your public transportation, Miss," the hotelier says and gives her a once-over that reeks unconcealed aversion.  
  
Emily subconsciously tugs at her faded baseball shirt. "That's right...I work for their marketing department and we're currently campaigning with Miss O'Hara," Emily says matter of factly and mimes quotation marks, "If she takes the Tube, everyone will."  
  
She gets a pitiful, sour expression in return. "I'm sorry, Miss, but I can't let you..."  
  
Suddenly, Rose and Emma are right behind her. "She's with me," Rose says with a certain command in her voice that doesn't allow any objections.  
  
"And you are...?"  
  
"Rose Lavelle, second cousin to Beatrice and Eugenie, Princesses of York."  
  
"Oh my," the receptionist whispers and daps some sweat from his forehead with a white handkerchief, "the Royal Family?"  
  
"Was I unclear?" Rose inquires, bluntly.  
  
"Of course not, madam. Quite the opposite. The press conference is in the Lancaster Room. I'm afraid you're very late."  
  
Rose doesn't bat an eye, but Emma shoves her pointy elbow into Emily's side. "Run!"  
  
  
//  
  
  
Emily darts away, almost stumbling over a glassy flower vase. She sprints down a narrow hallway and skitters to a halt in front of two wide winged doors. It's a fancy tea and dining room with a white and picturesque pagoda inside, but it's not the room she is looking for. She turns around frantically, almost running over a butler, who looks shocked despite his well dressed attire.  
  
"The Lancaster room?" Emily pants.  
  
He quirks an eyebrow, but doesn't comment further. "To your left, through the long hall, down the stairs to the River Level."  
  
"Thanks," she breathes and jogs away, her feet side-slipping on the smooth black and white tiles. She is fast, she always has been, but the corridor she runs down feels like it stretches on forever and when she finally reaches the stairs, she takes two steps at a time, almost falling down to the landing headfirst. She tries to find her bearings, looking at the walls for signs. When she sees a bold lettered brass plate announcing the 'Mezzanine', she swears and jumps down the next flight of stairs. Here, the checked tiles have been replaced by blue fluffy carpet, probably to symbolize the river Thames—so she knows she's finally on the right level. She runs ahead, finding the doors to the ballroom closed and locked. She searches for another way, heads through the back parlour and finds a side entrance, which's door is thankfully unlocked, so she sneaks in.  
  
It is a huge room with sky blue walls that are delicately framed by white stucco. There are several chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, illuminating a big crowd—row after row of journalists and reporters, cameras at the front, and TV cameras at the back. It's loud and bright and Emily has to shield her eyes for a second to get used to the lights. Then she spots Kelley, who sits at a large white table at the end of the room, framed by Allie and Dawn, who is firmly marshaling questions.  
  
"Yes...You—Dominic."  
  
"Great, thanks," the addressed says. He is lean and almost completely bold. "Kelley, how much longer are you staying in the UK then?"  
  
Kelley smiles noncommittally. "No time at all. I fly out tonight."  
  
Her posture is interesting, Emily thinks, as she slides through the door and sneakily joins the crowd from the side. Kelley looks slightly melancholic, her shoulders a little slouched, her eyes sad and puffy.  
  
"And that is why we have to round it up now," Dawn says and collects her papers. "Final questions."  
  
The room erupts in shouts and arms are yanked up into the air, hands waiving for attention.  
  
Dawn scans the room, and then her gaze lands on a journalist she obviously knows. "Melanie, your turn."  
  
The woman, small and stocky, pushes through the crowd. "Has your decision to take a year off anything to do with the rumors about Alex Morgan and her present leading lady?"  
  
"Absolutely not," Kelley answers.  
  
"Do you believe the rumors?"  
  
Kelley gives another small smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "It's really not my business anymore. Though I will say, from my experience, that rumors about Alex...do tend to be true."  
  
The crowd seems to love her answer, since a wave of laughter rolls through them, followed by frenetical scribbling on note books or hushed comments into recording phones.  
  
Dawn uses the time to spot another question and chooses a man that is right next to Emily.  
  
"Yes, thank you," the man says. "Last time you were here, Kelley, there were some fairly graphic pictures of you and another young English girl—so what happened there?"  
  
Kelley visibly inhales, but doesn't let her guard down. "She was just a friend...I think we're still friends."  
  
Emily cringes internally. She knows she has to do something, she knows she has to act, preferably very fast. Her mind is racing, and her brain is firing several different commands at her body, until she ends up with her hand up in the air.  
  
"Yes," Dawn says from the table, "the blonde lady in the baseball shirt."  
  
Emily looks around confused, until she notices that the people close to her are looking expectantly _at her.  
  
_ "Right. Excellent," she says. "Miss O'Hara...are there any circumstances in which you two might be more—um, more than just friends?"  
  
For a second, Kelley's face darkens at this indiscreet question, but when she looks up to answer, her expression changes completely. The lines in her face soften, she sits up straighter, even leans forward a little, and a curious glint appears in her eyes. "I hoped there might be," she says into the microphone in front of her. "But no, I was recently assured there aren't."  
  
Emily nods once, but continues. "And what would you say—"  
  
"No, it's just one question per person," Dawn interrupts.  
  
Kelley leans over to her PR manager. "No, let her finish...it's fine." She turns back to the crowd, her eyes fixated on Emily. "You were saying?"  
  
"Yes," Emily clears her throat, "I just wondered whether if it turned out that this...person..."  
  
"Her name is Sonnett," another reporter shouts from the back.  
  
Emily rolls her eyes, "Well, thank you."  
  
Kelley has to hold back a grin.  
  
"I just wondered," Emily continues, "if Miss Sonnett realized she'd been a daft prick and got down on her knees and begged you to reconsider, whether you would actually...reconsider."  
  
Their eyes meet, and there's a small pause, both of them just eyeing each other, until Kelley says, loud and clear, "Yes, I'm pretty sure I would."  
  
Emily lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "That's very good news. Buzzfeed's readers will be absolutely delighted."  
  
Kelley laughs, raspy and with all her heart.  
  
Emily just stands there with her hands on her hips, encircled by the crowd, and sees that Kelley leans over to Dawn and whispers something to her. Dawn nods curtly, and reaches for the microphone. "Dominic, if you'd like to ask your question again?"  
  
The journalist, a few yards away, is eager to reply. "Yes—Kelley, how long are you intending to stay here in Britain?"  
  
Kelley looks up at Emily, and a bright smile appears on her delicate face when she says, loud and strong, "Indefinitely."  
  
And suddenly, while Emily can't look away from Kelley, she is surrounded by reporters, cameras and flashlights in her face, questions thrown at her until everything dissolves intoa low background noise and all she can do is stupidly grin at Kelley, who smiles, and smiles, and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely humans, 
> 
> This was a hell of a ride for me. I hope you had as much fun reading this little story as I had fun writing it. I am truly happy for every click and the kudos, and for everyone who left a comment and encouraged me to continue. So I want to send a huge digital thank you to everyone: Thanks! You are highly appreciated!
> 
> And for this last chapter: As you probably know, the movie pretty much ends with this scene, but there are still a few things that I could wrap up. So let me know if you'd like to read an epilogue. ;)
> 
> And just in case you'd like to read something else, hit me up with other ideas, if you have them. I actually thought about rewriting other old movies...But I might be getting a little over my head with this.
> 
> Anyway, thank you again for sticking with me until the end. Stay safe and sound—and until next time,
> 
> Lewis


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely humans, 
> 
> A lot of you said they would be happy with a little epilogue, so here it is. ;)   
> I hope it ticks all the right boxes and leaves you a bit more happy than you were before.  
> Thanks again for sticking with me and with this story. It was a pleasure all the way!

"Happy anniversary, babe," Emily says with a cheesy grin and plops down next to Kelley on the old park bench. "I've got something for you." She hands Kelley a small styrofoam cup with a dangerously sloshing yellow liquid inside.  
  
"Did I miss something?" Kelley asks confused. "What kind of anniversary?"  
  
Emily pouts playfully. "Okay, I'm gonna be honest—I am a bit hurt you don't remember. But I'll let it pass, because I love you." To underline her point she presses a wet and sloppy kiss to Kelley's cheek.  
  
Kelley rolls her eyes and shoves at her shoulder, "Seriously, Em."  
  
Emily crosses her arms and tilts her head a little. "Two years ago today I ran you over with orange juice," she says with a blank expression and waits for Kelley's reaction. Only when she sees how Kelley's jaw drops in disbelief her charade crumbles and she topples over with laughter.  
  
"You gotta be kidding me," Kelley groans.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"You know how much I hate orange juice."  
  
"But I got it with extra pulp," Emily replies with a shit-eating grin.  
  
"That doesn't make it better."  
  
Kelley's face is a mixture of outrage and light annoyance, but Emily can't take her very serious, so she just chuckles lightly. "Tell you what," she says and makes herself comfortable on the bench. "I'll finish the juice and you can indulge in your favorite pastime..." She grins mischievously and pats her thigh. "Nap on my lap."  
  
Kelley swats her arm with quite some force, but slides down to place her head on Emily anyway. "Is this really how you see me?"  
  
"How do I see you?"  
  
"Like the rich retired actress that just lives her life without wasting a thought on tomorrow."  
  
"No," Emily says, and her tone is serious. "I do not see you like that." She lifts a hand and gently starts to stroke Kelley's hairline. "The woman I love is passionate, hard working and occasionally likes her afternoon nap, especially on rare hot days during the English summer...Okay, and maybe in the winter months as well. But she definitely doesn't just live from day to day. And she knows that."  
  
Emily looks down to see Kelley's reaction, but the brunette only hums with her eyes closed. After a moment her breathing gets rather deep, so Emily doesn't press, but just continues to caress her girlfriend with one hand and fishes for her book with the other.  
  
Maybe half an hour later Kelley stirs again. "Are you okay?" Kelley asks, her face snuggled in Emily's lap.  
  
Emily lowers her book and looks down at Kelley, smiling at her frown. "Absolutely, why?"  
  
"You haven't turned a page in forever."  
  
"Have you been watching me?"  
  
Kelley smiles. "Maybe," she drags.  
  
"Uh-huh." Emily grunts and lowers her book. "I've just been a little lost in my thoughts, I guess."  
  
"Anything you wanna share?"  
  
Emily wiggles a little under Kelley's weight. "It's just...sometimes I'm afraid that I'll just wake up and suddenly everything is back to the way it was before—and that I'll realize that everything was just a dream." She closes the book and puts it on the empty space to her left, her fingers stroking over the smoothly polished wood of the bench they are sitting on. "Like this," she whispers and leans against the backrest. She swears she can feel the inscription that has been carved into the wood through her clothes, feels how the letters dig into her skin, push all the way through her until they tumble out of her chest and onto Kelley.  
  
Suddenly her throat feels quite constricted and she swallows heavily, trying to will down her surfacing emotions. She breathes in, and exhales slowly, letting her eyes roam over the scenery around them. "Like this," she starts over and motions to the garden surrounding them. "I still can't believe how you just bought us a house on the corner so we could spend every weekend in this ridiculously pretty garden...and how it is so fucking good to just be here with you, to just have the possibility of sitting here with you."  
  
Kelley smiles up at her, and takes Emily's free hand in her own, gently stroking over the soft skin of her palm.  
  
"This past year has been an absolute rollercoaster. Don't get me wrong, I loved every second of it, but it all still feels a little...surreal."  
  
"Surreal..." Kelley ponders, "but nice?"  
  
It takes a while until the words sink in, but then Emily is met with one of the most wicked grins she has ever seen on Kelley. "Oh, you think you're really smart, aren't you?"  
  
"Of course," Kelley replies instantly, "I went to Stanford!"  
  
"Yeah, sorry, I'm from England, I don't know what this means." This earns her another mean swat against the shin. "Ouch, that hurt."  
  
"No it didn't," Kelley mumbles but is already distracted by her phone vibrating in her hands. "Sorry, let me just..." she trails off as she checks her screen and starts to read the incoming message.  
  
Emily nods, more to herself than for Kelley to see and reopens her book, trying to figure out where she stopped. She scans the pages, finds a familiar sentence and starts over. A few paragraphs later, she stops mid sentence and looks up again. "You know, random people still tag me on pictures from the red carpet." She cringes. "It's been almost a month since the premiere. It's weird."  
  
Kelley elongates her neck to look up from Emily's lap. "Okay, first of all, it's good that you think it's weird. Because it is, and we wouldn't be here if you'd be thrilled about it. But you also looked so fucking hot in that tux—I don't blame people for swooning over you."  
  
Emily's blush starts faintly on her cheeks and then explodes in crimson red all over her face. "Thanks," she coughs.  
  
"I mean," Kelley continues regardless, "for a second I thought _I_ was the arm candy. You definitely made an impression."  
  
"Yeah, well," Emily says noncommittally and brushes a loose strand of hair out of her face. "At least you didn't face plant while trying to get out of the limousine."  
  
Kelley chuckles. "Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad."  
  
"It wasn't because I was holding your hand and you yanked me upright like The Rock would lift a small kettlebell...Too. Much. Force."  
  
"I was merely assisting you," Kelley laughs and shoots her a wink.  
  
"Fine," Emily presses through her teeth, "suit yourself."  
  
"I will. And by the way, what's with you and all The Rock references?"  
  
"What do you mean, 'all The Rock references'? I don't even talk about him that much. And anyway, he's cool."  
  
"Sure," Kelley says inattentively, as her phone vibrates again.  
  
"You’re popular today," Emily comments and turns a page with one hand, while the other is draped over the back of the wooden bench and still linked with Kelley's.  
  
"Sorry," Kelley says and yawns, her jaw digging into Emily's thighs, "it's just Allie who wants to remind me that I have a very important and very unread email from Dawn in my inbox." She repositions her head in Emily's lap, warm from her own body heat and the afternoon sun and stretches her legs over the armrest of the bench.  
  
Emily looks up from her book. "What does she want?"  
  
"She wants me to look at a few new scripts. Dawn seems to have found some interesting projects."  
  
"Yeah, interesting how?"  
  
"I don't know, I asked them to find me something good. I told them otherwise I wouldn't even answer the phone for a month."  
  
Emily chuckles. "Poor Dawn, I can almost see the vein pulsing on her forehead."  
  
Kelley snorts at that, "Exactly." She looks back down at her phone and scrolls through what looks like a short email and several longer attachments.  
  
Emily shrugs, and continues reading her book. It's a suspense novel and although the main characters are quite bland and one-dimensional, the action scenes are fast paced and packed with twists, so she only looks up after another fifteen minutes fly by in a blur of a ridiculous car chase that ends with the driver's head pierced by the steering wheel and the main character almost drowning in a churning river, as the car slowly sinks to the bottom.  
  
"Hey," Kelley says lightly and pokes Emily's side. "Can I have my hand back?"  
  
Emily detaches her clammy hand from Kelley's fingers. "Sorry."  
  
"No, it's fine, I just need to…huh."  
  
Emily shoves the bookmark between two pages and drops the book. "What?"  
  
"I'm not sure." Kelley frowns, zooms in on a file and sighs. "Wow."  
  
"Oh, come on, don't leave me hanging."  
  
"I think Dawn really went over her head with this." She sits up, smoothes down her shirt and looks back at the screen. "I can't believe this."  
  
"Kelley…" Emily groans.  
  
The brunette looks up, and in that moment the sun shines directly on her face, her eyes glinting with fire. "They want me for the next Bond movie."  
  
Emily is visibly confused while she puts her book aside once more. "I'm sure this is a great opportunity and all, but...um...maybe I still don't understand your industry—but aren't you a bit too famous to be a Bond girl?"  
  
"Em..." Kelley says and her voice is incredibly soft. "They don't want me to be in the next Bond, they want me to _be_ the next Bond."  
  
Emily blinks several times, clearly processing this information. "They want—you'd be?—they would..." she stutters and stops herself. She looks at her girlfriend who watches her with a loving smile and just gapes a few more times before she nods to herself, her mouth a crooked line. "Yeah, I mean...a female Bond. Sure. And we thought we'd never see the day."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Emily turns around to Kelley, crossing her legs under her. "Okay, first of all, congrats and all that jazz, because this is HUGE!" She leans forward, captures Kelley's face in both her hands and kisses her gently. "Cool, so can I see the email now, I wanna check something." She grins widely.  
  
Kelley, her eyes still almost closed from the kiss, hands over her phone. "Only if I get more of these later."  
  
"Absolutely," Emily answers and pecks her nose for good measure. Then she turns the screen around in her hand, and begins to read the message.  
  
Meanwhile, Kelley fiddles with the fabric on her shorts. "Just out of curiosity, what are you looking for exactly?"  
  
In that moment Emily almost drops the phone. It slides out of her grasp and down her leg, but she snatches it back before it can fall down into the grass. "Ups."  
  
Kelley tilts her head, a questioning brow raised.  
  
"Kel, did you read the whole text?"  
  
Kelley shakes her head no. "Why?"  
  
"Um...because..." Emily scratches the skin behind her ear. "You know how it's a tradition that the actor who plays Bond has to be English, or at least from the UK?"  
  
"I don't think I've ever..."  
  
"Yeah, so Dawn says that there's just one twist to the deal." She makes a dramatic pause and looks up at Kelley, whose face displays a mixture of confusion and worry.  
  
"You're acting weird and it doesn't help that you also look like you're either in pain or you might need to throw up. Are you okay?"  
  
Emily shakes her head. "Sorry, no, I'm fine, it's just..." She gives Kelley her phone back and watches how Kelley's fingers instantly fly over the screen, her eyes skimming the text.  
  
At the end of the message Kelley slowly lowers the phone, letting the screen turn black. She nods, takes a spare hair tie from her wrist and puts her hair up into a bun, all the while she remains to have eye contact with Emily. Then she clicks her tongue, and a small smile appears on her face that grows wider and wider by the second. "Yeah," she says and it's more of a chuckle than a word, "I mean, eventually, we probably would have done it anyway....so let's go and get married."  
  
Emily jumps off the bench. "Now?" she squeaks.  
  
Kelley just laughs, a deep, rough and mischievous laughter that makes Emily shiver in all the right places. "Not now, silly, but maybe tomorrow."  
  
"Tomorrow?" Emily repeats and nervously scratches at her neck. "Yeah, um...sure. Yeah." She sits back down, her body tuned into Kelley and her heart beating wildly in her chest. "Great, that's just..." she stammers and then she holds her breath for a second, her eyes locking with Kelley's. What she sees there is all she needs, so she breaks out into a huge smile and the next word just tumbles from her lips off-handedly. "Excellent."


End file.
